#emotional maturity in wrestling??? you love to see it

[jj-dyl]

i love how jey didn’t even get mad when sami was saying he felt alone and felt it should be kevin next to him. and i feel like jey uses anger to cover hurt a lot of the time. but this time his main focus was reassuring him. and then immediately forgave him when he apologised

[joelmillers-whore]

The Only Thing I Did Right

summary: after a patrol gone wrong, joel races to get you back to jackson. while the doctor tries to save you, he wrestles with the guilt of letting you down.

pairing: joel miller x reader 

word count: 2.6K

series or one-shot

warnings: mature, language, joel x female!reader, no mention of Y/N, canon timeline (sort of), jackson era, post-outbreak, soft joel, hurt/comfort, minor descriptions of blood, joel thinking everything is his fault, tommy is there briefly, mentions of drinking and/or alcohol dependence, happy ending don’t worry, angst if you squint

A/N: i meant for this to be a short drabble because my creativity has been waning lately and i’m a little burned out to be honest, but i got carried away, but what else is new. anywho, enjoy this lil fic. let me know if ya’ll would like to see another part of this or maybe an interconnected one-shot series, i would be down. i really enjoyed writing this. also, i am still trying to power through this sickness i have suddenly, and i don’t think i’ll be able to post hard light chapter two this week.

I've Got Nothing Left To Hide

“Where’s it hurt?”, Joel asked, in a low, almost inaudible voice. He tried to keep his tone calm, trying to keep you calm, but his mind was flustered, and he was on edge, and he was pretty sure that you could see right through his charade. 

He swallowed thickly, past a lump that was stuck in his throat. His eyes darted all over you, tracking every movement, every laboured breath, and wince.

It had been decades since he had felt like this; the constricting of his chest, the shallow and unsure breaths that he was letting out, and the staggering way his heart clenched, a silent prayer on his lips, asking any God who would listen to spare you. 

It all felt so overwhelming and a little too familiar. Images of Sarah flashed through his mind, dredging up demons and emotions he had thought he had left in the past.

He had never been so afraid of losing someone he loved, not since Sarah, but here he was now, feeling like he was about to collapse at any minute, terrified of making the wrong move and losing you.

He swallowed again, harsher as he concentrated on his breathing. 

He hadn’t let his mind drift to thoughts of his daughter in a long time, his chest burning in that familiar way each time that he did, squeezing to the point of pain.

He let an idle hand drift to his chest, right above his heart, and gripped it, trying to will it subconsciously to slow down. But it was no use. 

There were very few things in the world that made Joel feel as if the ground was collapsing underneath him, and thinking of Sarah was definitely one of them.

Whenever he found himself thinking of her, thinking of how he couldn’t save her, the breath from his lungs evaporated, and guilt slammed into him with enough force to destabilize him.

But seeing you like this, the woman that he had promised Tommy that he would watch over and protect, writhe in pain as blood pooled under your shirt, that was another thing that he couldn’t bear to witness. 

You looked so helpless, lying in his arms, looking up at him with droopy lids, a faraway look in your eyes.

He cursed under his breath, knowing that you were injured because of him, because of his carelessness.

You were going to be another person he couldn’t protect and he didn’t know how much more of that he could take. 

“‘M fine”, you said, weakly, your breath coming out in stunted gasps. 

Joel shook his head, tempered anger coursing through his veins, “Don’t pull that brave shit with me”, he bit out, harsher than he intended. He gripped you tighter in his arms, holding onto you for dear life. “I know it hurts, so just tell me”. 

He watched as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, you tried to blink them but the motion only made them fall, coating your cheeks.

Joel lifted a hand, wiping them away. He hated to see you cry, he couldn’t stand it, it broke his heart.

He left his thumb on the apple of your cheek, thinking that maybe the sensation would bring you some comfort, thinking that maybe it would bring him some comfort. 

“Am I going to die, Joel?”, you asked, a slight tremble in your voice. 

Joel shook his head, adamantly, “Not if I can help it”. 

You faded in and out of consciousness as Joel debated his next move, trying to figure out how he was going to get you back to Jackson.

He clutched the hem of your shirt, the material sticking to your stomach as he peeled it from you.

He visibly cringed as he eyed your wound, the punctured flesh dispelling crimson red at a rapid and borderline concerning rate. 

He couldn’t wait around any longer, couldn’t wait for the next round of patrol to find them, if they even came out this far. So, he took matters into his own hands, his muted internal clock ticking down the more he looked at you pale in his arms.

He scooped up your limb body, pressing you flush to his body, determination and adrenaline pumping through him, the driving force propelling him into action.

There was only one thought in his head; get you back to Jackson, by whatever means. 

As he stepped out of the small cabin, Joel noticed that the sun was slowly starting to dip beneath the horizon, the pop of blistering orange making him anxious.

Night would come quicker than either of you wanted and then the real challenge would begin, trying to navigate through the dense forest and get back to the community in the dark.

You were trembling in his arms, shaking so violently, from either the bitter cold or the loss of blood, that he thought that he was the one who was hurting you. 

“Can you ride?”, he asked, urgency in his voice. 

“Dunno”. 

Joel couldn't risk injuring you further, but he also couldn’t waste any more time, so he made an executive decision. He had been making a lot of those on your behalf today, and his most recent had gotten you in this position in the first place, it was his fault.

If anything happened to you, he wouldn’t ever forgive himself. 

He placed you tentatively on the ground, his arm sneaking around your waist to stabilize you as he untied his horse from the post. 

“Alright”, he bent slightly, grabbing your foot and placing it in his hand, “Nice ‘n easy now”. 

He could see the strain on your face, the pellets of sweat sticking to your hairline as you used as much strength as you could, hoisting yourself up and onto the horse. You’d let out a strangled groan as you got situated.

Once he knew that you were on, he hopped up, grabbing the reins and digging his heels into Shimmer’s body, spurring her into a run, his motivation to get back to Jackson making his heart race. 

The only solace that Joel took from not being able to see you from the position he was in, was that he could feel you gripping him from behind, your arms latching around his waist, your cheek flush with his back.

He could feel your chest rising and falling against him and his pulse softened, knowing that you were still fighting, still holding on for him. 

He had pushed Shimmer to her limits, getting you both back to Jackson in record time. The sequence of events that followed had been a blur to him.

The gates had opened immediately, the guards recognizing him even in the dusk.

He remembered screaming his throat raw, begging someone for help as he carried you into town and to the doctor.

He’d watched on, helplessly, as they quickly began working on you. Blood and cloth blurred his vision, making his stomach twist with queasiness.

He had to leave the room, too overcome with emotion and nausea to be of any help to you. 

When he stepped outside of the small makeshift clinic, the frigid air pierced his lungs, drawing out a long and aching breath, striking him so sharply that he stumbled forward.

He had gripped a wooden post for support, digging his palms into it for purchase, closing his eyes.

He tried to get a handle on his breathing, but it was no use. He felt the bile creeping higher in his throat, until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

It poured out of him, leaving his mouth dry and his head spinning. It was a visceral reaction, his worry over you, over what he had let happen. 

He cursed Tommy for entrusting him with you, something so precious. He knew things could have turned out worse, and he was glad that they hadn’t been, but he couldn’t get over how bad they were right now.

How shaken to his core he was that he had allowed this to happen at all.

Joel couldn’t stand to be there anymore, just on the other side of the door that led to you, powerless while the doctor patched you up. So, he did the one thing he had always been good at, he left. 

Snow crunched underneath his boots, growing louder in his ears as he walked away from the clinic. He thought that a drink might help calm his nerves.

A part of his brain wanted to forget that this day had ever happened, and another part told him that no amount of alcohol would repair the guilt that was nestled snuggly in his gut. But he could try. 

Joel didn’t know how long he had been at the Tipsy Bison, he had lost track of time after the third or fourth whiskey. He blew out a shaky breath, letting a hand drift over his haggard features.

He had been running on adrenaline the whole day and now he was crashing, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones.

But he couldn’t rest, he didn’t deserve to, not when he didn’t know if you had made it or not. 

A jolt of horror shot through his body, making his stomach twist in knots. What if you hadn’t made it? He licked his dry lips, closing his eyes as he felt a prick form behind his eyes. 

Joel was startled by a firm hand on his shoulder. He twisted slightly to see who it was, his face dropping further when he saw that it was Tommy.

He didn’t have to look at his brother for long to get a read on his expression. What he was thinking.

He was pissed and rightfully so. He had failed you and now he was waiting for Tommy to lay into him, chastise him for being so fucking stupid. 

“She’s askin’ for ya”, Tommy said, keeping his voice soft. 

Joel turned around in his seat fully to look at Tommy, surprised that he had gotten to his feet so fast. He snorted out a laugh, seeing the fucking relief that was surely on Joel’s face.

Tommy clapped his shoulder again, almost to stabilize him. Joel couldn’t look his brother in the eye, guilt bubbling and breaking the surface, making his skin sting. 

“‘M sorry”, he mumbled, “I should’ve been there, I should’ve gotten to her quicker, I shoulda done something”. 

Tommy shook his head, “You couldn’t’ve known that would happen, Joel. So stop blaming yourself”. 

Joel scratched at his facial hair, running his hand along his jaw, pondering Tommy’s words. 

He continued, “You protected her with your life, brother. I couldn’t ask for more than that”. 

Joel felt emotion clog his throat. Tommy wasn’t angry with him like he suspected he would be, he was grateful even. Something unfamiliar unfurled in his stomach, something that felt like acceptance. 

A long beat stretched between them, “Go see her”, Tommy finally said, a smile pulling at his lips. 

He led Joel out of the bar, leading him back to the clinic to go see you. Tommy stopped short of the door, motioning for him to continue without him. Joel nodded curtly, slipping past and entering the small, single-room cabin. 

Tentatively, Joel inched closer to the bed that you were in, walking on the balls of his feet, uncertain if you were awake or not. You were lying down, stretched out with your back to him, He sat on the edge of the bed, seeing you turn toward him, a grin on your face as you looked at him. Joel’s face heated under your gaze.

He didn’t deserve that smile, he thought, but he would take it anyway, if you were willing to give it to a man like him. He reached out, stroking your face softly with the back of his fingers. 

“Hey, darlin’, how ya feelin’?”, his voice was throaty, raw. 

His heart hammered below the surface as your eyes locked with his, pining him to where he sat. He didn’t want to breathe too loudly or make any sudden movements, too afraid that he would break the spell. 

“Better now”, you croaked. 

Everything collapsed at once inside of him; his resolve, his strength, his pride. He couldn’t fight it any longer, how fucking happy he was that you were still here, still with him. 

“What’re you smiling at, hm?”, you asked, arching a brow. 

Joel shook his head, his explanation dying on his tongue. He had never been one to lose his words but right now, being so close to you, he wasn’t sure he knew how to speak anymore.

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back to the moment. Your hand was freezing as it touched his skin but he didn’t mind. 

His smile disappeared as your eyes scanned his face, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry—”, he started, but you shook your head. 

“It was my fault, Joel. Don’t you dare apologize for my fucking mistake. I won’t hear it”, you said, your tone firm. 

Joel wanted to argue, to tell you that it was his fault but he didn’t have the heart, not when you were only just beginning to heal up, still looking weak and pale.

He could wait for another day to have it out with you. He just nodded instead, and you hummed, content with him seemingly letting it go for now. 

Your hand was still on his wrist and he felt a strange sense of calm. 

“Come ‘er”, you whispered, tugging on his wrist lightly. 

He wasn’t sure what was happening until your lips were on his, soft, pliant, and full. The kiss was sweet but it only lasted a minute. He pulled back, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Thank you”, you said, eyes shining as the light hit them, making them more beautiful than he thought was possible. 

He nodded quickly, head still spinning from kissing you. It had been a thank-you kiss and he shouldn’t think more of it.

But goddamn it, he wanted more. He wasn’t mad or upset that you had kissed him, honestly, he had been meaning to do it for months now.

If a kiss filled with gratitude for saving your life was all that he could get, he would accept that, he didn’t want to push his luck. 

You noticed the uneasy look on his face, shifting in the bed and using your dwindling strength to sit up.

Now you were the one with creased brows, your eyes darting over his face, trying to find your answer. Realization struck your features. 

“If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, Joel. I just didn’t know how else to say it”. 

Joel felt like a jackass, that wasn’t what he meant at all. 

“That’s not— that’s not it, darlin’. I just didn’t think you’d want to kiss an old man like me”. 

His chuckle was thick with depreciation, but you just shook your head, eyes gleaming with something he didn’t recognize. You chewed your lower lip and Joel couldn’t help but stare. 

“I’ve been meaning to do that for a while actually”, you admitted. 

Joel’s head snapped up, searching your eyes. You were sincere and he knew it. That was the confirmation that he needed, the hope that lit a flame in his chest. You wanted him too. 

A deep chortle escaped Joel’s throat, his face neutral as he leaned in closer to yours. “Then I guess we better make up for lost time then”. 

Joel pressed his lips into yours, moulding to the shape of them as he gripped your face in his large hands, letting a groan slip into your mouth. You pulled back with a giggle, fisting the hair at the base of his head.

Your smile was a thousand watts and Joel couldn’t look away. His grip on your face tightened a little more, making sure that this was really happening to him. 

He couldn’t believe it but he dove back in regardless, wanting to soak in as much of your love and light that you were willing to give to him.

[bellofthemeadow]

Dawn Ends the Night - Chapter 3

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the attack sees Prince Aemond wrestle with new feelings.

Notes: Hello everyone, I hope you are all enjoying this chaotic posting schedule just as much as I am!!! I am back with a new chapter, a little window into Aemond's very messy mind. That man is a softboy at heart, he just needs like 20 years of therapy. RN its the beginning of a slight "obsession" as our boy for the first is feeling... something that is not murder, or hatred, or the need to burn everything with Vhagar. So yeah.

Like always thank you to everyone who reblogged and commented I love interacting with y'all and I really hope that you enjoy this chapter 💜💜💜

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts

Through your Eyes

In the silence of his bedchamber, Aemond's pulse raced like the chained dragons lagering in the dragon pit, its beat echoing from the cavern of his chest to the very tips of his fingers, awakening the primal blood-rage that slept within his Targaryen blood. The air around him trembled with his ragged breaths, each one a stormy gust tearing through the otherwise stillness of the room. Alone, he wrestled with his armor, the leather stained with the day's deadly encounter. He would need to get the leather treated so the blood wouldn’t leave its reddish mark, Aemond thought with annoyance.  His hands, though shaking with a fury he struggled to contain, methodically peeled away each layer, dismissing the need for a manservant's aid. This was his ritual of solitude, after a lost fight in the yard with Ser Criston, or an annoying dinner with Aegon, Aemond needed to take a moment to confront the tempest within, a moment to try and tame the dragon. 

“My thanks for saving us” your sweet words echoed in Aemond’s brain like the hymns his mother had once insisted he memorize, trapped in his mind – relentless in their grab for his undivided attention. Although he had just met you earlier (had it only been 3 hours?) each detail was etched into his memory with unnerving clarity —the putrid stench of Flea Bottom that now seemed to permeate his very being and clung all the way to his smallclothes, the satisfying melody of the guard's screams echoes loud as he replays  the moment he severed the man's hand from his foul body; an act of true dragon-justice.  

 Your eyes. 

Those eyes, captivating and raw, rimmed with red, their watery sheen reflecting a tumult of fury and fear. It was a look Aemond rarely witnessed in others, but they were a mirror to the emotions he often grappled with in his daily solitude. Staring into his own reflection, he was accustomed to seeing the same intensity in his sole eye, the other a remnant of his past, a void where fear once dwelled. Now, that fear was often overshadowed by a simmering fury, a relentless fire that had become his constant companion. Yet, in your gaze, he saw the fear and anger, a young bird still scared of an unknown, cruel world – but oh so angry and unwilling to get yourself drag down by its cruelty.  

Since coming back to the keep after he had settled the matter at the market, Aemond’s mind was inexorably drawn back to the market, to the moment he first laid eyes on you. He had not needed anyone to point you out; he knew who you were from the second he saw you, holding that little boy who was clinging onto you like the barnacles that littered the rocks in blackwater bay.  

Seeing you so small yet standing so tall in the shadow of the guard’s golden cloak, he had only seen the resolve and desire to protect; for Aemond, it was like a visceral pull that transcended mere sight that had drawn him to you, like he was being pulled with a thight string attached to his heart.And in the dirt of Flea Bottom, you had stood cloaked in a gown of gauzy lilac in a style of dress he had never seen at court. The sheerness of the sleeves and the plunge of the loose bodice defied the strict, colorless conventions of the court and in a way that would surely raise his mother's brow in disapproval. But Aemond did not care for what was proper, as when he freed the man’s body from its hand, he only longed to take you in his arms, to press the silky fabric of your gown, under which he knew luscious curves hid, between his fingertips.  

Aemond closed his eyes trying to imagine what you would feel like in his arms, he could almost feel it if he concentrated enough - were he a bold man, Aemond would have tugged on the fabric of your dress to bring you closer to him, to hold you tight. Not for unseemly reasons as you were still his betrothed, a lady of noble birth at that, and he was no Aegon. It was hard to admit it to himself, but all he wanted was to inhale the sweet citrusy scent he had caught when you had tied the purple scrap of silk to his bicep.  

Aemond unwound the fabric from his arm with a tenderness that echoed the way his mother handled her most precious emerald necklace, an heirloom passed down from his grandmother. She cherished it so deeply that she allowed only herself to touch or clean it, guarding it like a dragon hoarding its treasure. But to Aemond, this simple piece of purple cloth was infinitely more valuable than any gems or riches that lay in the royal vault; it was the only tangible thread linking him to you. Through this favor, you were his and he was yours, bonded through blood and silk. He hoped one day he could shower you in trinkets; ruby-red necklaces, perhaps paired with a green samite gown, or freshwater pearls jewelery ; he had heard that Riverrun made amazing hairnet with them  –Aemond could not help but smile at the thought of you outfitted with tokens from him, all would know that you belonged to him.  

Aemond let the fabric dance lightly between his fingertips and bringing the scarf closer, he tentatively pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply. The fragrance was faint, a hint of your presence as if you had only briefly held the fabric in your grasp. Frustration flickered within him as he sought more of your scent, breathing in with an intensity born of deep longing and desire. Aemond was no stranger to yearning; his life was a testament to insatiable hunger - for recognition, for greatness, for respect, and for the Iron Throne. His brother, with his lecherous appetite and penchant for debauchery, and his older sister who is always entangled in a web of deceit with her brood of Strong bastards, were both underserving of what should have been rightfully Aemond.  

Yet, as he held the fabric close to his face, Aemond felt his greed transform from ugly and covetous to an all-encompassing desire to protect and care. He yearned not for accolades or crowns, but for the intimacy of your existence in his arms. Indeed, Aemond was a greedy man, and at that moment, he longed to truly have you, to have your scent permeate his skin. The mere thought of burying his face in your hair, drawing in the essence of your being, became a need that tugged at his very core. He almost scoffed at his thoughts, to think that the dragonrider of Vhagar would be reduced to a puddle of quivering emotions! If, when his mother first informed him of his betrothal, Aegon had told him that in barely a moon's turn he would desire nothing more than the simple pleasure of his betrothed's closeness, to breathe in the sweet aroma, he would have throttled his idiot brother. But you had ensnared him – a simple instant in your presence, a look from your beautiful eyes and he was yours. What a mess he was.  

Closing his eyes, Aemond did his best to recall the delicate touch of your hands as they had wrapped the fabric around his arm. The feeling of your delicate fingers resonated deep within him, intimate and gentle, unlike any he had ever experienced. The soft pressure of your fingers against his skin, the careful way you secured the scarf, it all felt like a silent promise, I shall care for you, my lord husbands. Words Aemond yearned to hear falling from your plush lips.  

Under the tender scrutiny of your eyes, Aemond felt a man transformed; Gone was the bitter sting of being known as 'Aemond the Dragonless' or 'Aemond-who-sends-the-maids-crying.' Instead, he felt seen as who he should have been, had fate not cruelly snatched away his eye – a true dragon prince, deserving of admiration and respect. Deserving of a crown, even if his weak father refused to admit it.  

"Prince Aemond!" The call from Ser Criston echoed forcefully through the door, breaking the stillness of the chamber and brought Aemond from his musings. Huffing, Aemond groaned in displeasure, he could understand now why Aegon stopped his sword training - Ser Criston did have the worst of timing. Maybe if he held his breath, Ser Criston would go away. He waited a minute, but the pounding restarted; Of course, he would not go away, the knight was relentless.  

"Just a moment," Aemond replied tersely.  

"The Queen requests your presence immediately, my prince. The matter is urgent, so please make haste my prince" came Ser Criston's insistent voice from the other side. 

Aemond groaned before swiftly splashing cool water across his face, feeling it's refreshing touch against his skin and hastily pulling a tunic over his head, covering his bare chest. There would be time for a proper bath later in the evening, before dinner and the official presentation of his betrothed to court, he reasoned. 

His fingers then reached for the purple silk and carefully he tied it around his wrist, positioning it high enough to remain concealed beneath the folds of his jerkin. Though hidden from view, its presence was a secret comfort, a reminder that he did not dream you – that you existed, in flesh and blood.  

Aemond flung the door open, his movements brusque, revealing the stern figure of Ser Criston Cole. The knight looked annoyed; his lips downturned in displeasure. Without exchanging words, Aemond began striding towards his mother’s solar, the path so familiar that he required no guidance, least of all from his mother’s shadow. 

"The Queen is quite agitated, my prince," Ser Criston broke the silence, his voice echoing down the dimly lit corridor. "She has been informed of the incident at the market and is... less than pleased." 

Aemond's steps faltered, his fists clenching at his sides, he knew it was coming, he just had not imagined it would happen so soon, although it made sense as Alicent had many eyes and ears all over the city. Aemond looked at Ser Criston before rolling his eye, the knight had no doubt babbled the second he had reached his mother's vicinity. The thought of disappointing his mother tightly squeezed at his heart, with gritted teeth, Aemond let out a noncommittal grunt in a thinly veiled effort to maintain composure. Ser Criston, however, persisted. "In light of the current tensions at court, such a public display of violence was... ill-advised, to say the least. For a prince of the realm to act so rashly..." 

Stopping abruptly, the torchlight casting long shadows that danced on the walls, Aemond turned sharply, his eyes a stormy sea of frustration and barely contained rage. "And what would you have had me do, Ser Criston? Stand by while that animal threatened my betrothed with cold steel? Be grateful I let him leave with his life." 

Ser Criston's demeanor remained stoic, attempting to soothe the prince's anger. "These are indeed trying times, my prince. But your betrothed should not have found herself in such a predicament. A lady of her station venturing away from her escort raises questions about her discretion. Such behavior could bring unforeseen troubles to our doorstep..." 

Aemond's voice cut through the air, sharp as Valyrian steel. "I severed the hand that dared harm her. What do you think I would do to the tongues of those who dare tarnish her name?" 

Ser Criston's expression flickered, a brief moment of uncertainty crossing his face. "My prince, I did not mean to imply—" 

"I know exactly what you implied," Aemond interjected, his voice laced with a cold venom. He unconsciously reached to his right arm where he knew your favor was hidden, touching it to bring your bravery to his words. "Remember your place, Ser Criston. As much as you are a valued member of this household and as much as I have always considered you to be a great mentor, I will not tolerate any slight against my betrothed. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, my prince," Ser Criston conceded, the strain in his voice evident. "I shall be more mindful." 

With a curt nod, Aemond turned away and, as he moved through the corridors, passing servants and knights alike, he noticed their efforts to avoid meeting his gaze. It was a dance he had grown accustomed to, yet today, it felt more pronounced as it made the hole beneath the eye-patch throbbed. Trying to keep the pain at bay, he imagined you at his side holding his hand and giving a sweet reassuring smile. It seemed to help somewhat as the pain started subsiding, leaving in its wake only the feeling of emptiness. It would do for now.  

 Reaching the door to the Queen's solar, Aemond paused, collecting his thoughts. He had hoped that by now, his usual icy composure would have resettled over him like a familiar cloak, that the fiery dragon within would have been tamed and subdued. Yet, beneath his skin, a prickling heat lingered, a reminder of the inferno that had coursed through his veins earlier. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the encounter ahead. The comforting memory of your grateful eyes had to be set aside, replaced with the bracing reality of his mother's scrutiny. 

Aemond gently rapped on the door and after a brief pause, one of his mother's handmaidens opened the door, allowing him and Ser Criston to enter the room. Inside, Queen Alicent, adorned in a dress of her usual striking green, paced before a large window. Her anxiety was palpable, evidenced by the way she gnawed at her cuticles, some of which were surrounded by tiny specks of blood where she had bitten too deeply.  

Aemond felt a pang of shame tighten in his gut. He was rather unaccustomed to being the source of his mother's disappointment. Throughout his life, she had always shown him a particular kind of attention, especially during his more vulnerable, bullied childhood years when he did not have a dragon to stop people (Aegon) from mocking him. Displeasing Queen Alicent was not something he took lightly. His gaze swept across the room, and Aemond noticed the unusual absence of Otto Hightower, which was odd as the man always had a way to immerse himself in every family discussion. 

Aemond's thoughts were shattered by the sharp rebuke of his mother. "Aemond, for the love of the Seven, what possessed you?" Queen Alicent's voice might have sounded stern and strict to the uneased ear, but Aemond could hear a pinch of desperation. "To attack and dismember a gold cloak in full view of the public. Do you realize the talk this will incite!?" Her eyes, usually so full of maternal warmth reserved for him, now bore into him with a sternness that made him inwardly flinch. 

The smoldering embers of Aemond's anger flared up once more, and he met his mother's gaze with his own steely look – the one that made grown man shudder. "Mother, that man was a disgrace to his cloak. He was assaulting the woman who is to be my wife, threatening her life. He was a beast, unworthy of his position and of the gold on his back. By intervening, I not only did what was necessary to protect my intended, but I restored the name of the King in the eyes of the people of King’s Landing. I will not apologize for my actions as I was under the impression that Lady Dayne, being betrothed to a prince, would be under the protection of our house. It seems I was mistaken. Perhaps I should have allowed her to be stripped naked and beaten for all of Flea bottom to see, would this have been more appropriate?!" 

Queen Alicent, her fingers once again finding their way to her mouth, bit her nails nervously. With a weary sigh, she approached Aemond, her hands reaching out to gently grasp his arms. "Aemond, you misunderstand my concern," she began, her voice tinged with fatigue. "Your actions in defending your betrothed were commendable, but the manner in which you executed them... it is the brutality of it that troubles me. Such a display of violence and cruelty, it's not befitting a prince of your stature." 

Aemond's response came with a touch of bitterness, "Mother, the people of King’s Landing have always viewed me as a monster. What I did today is likely mild in comparison to what they all believe me capable of. And frankly, the man got off lightly. Had it been solely up to me, I would have fed him to Vhagar without a second thought." 

Queen Alicent's sigh was heavy. "Aemond, please," she implored. "I understand your urge to protect your future wife, but you have not even properly met her, your reaction was..." 

"You understand nothing," Aemond interjected sharply, his voice rising with indignation. "My name is Aemond Targaryen! NOT Aemond Hightower and I will uphold the words of my house, 'Fire and Blood,' in dealing with any who threaten us. And that includes Lady Dayne, from the moment Ggrandfather arranged for our betrothal. " 

Alicent's expression turned grave, her gaze unyielding "Is that truly your desire, Aemond? To be remembered as another Maegor the Cruel? To walk the same dark path as your uncle, the rogue that all the nobility of the realm scorns? What legacy do you wish to leave – Aemond the Monstrous? Aemond the Brutal?" 

Aemond winced upon his mother's words – Aemond the monstruous? A bitter retort escaped his lips, "Perhaps I do want that. Perhaps if they called me 'Aemond the Cruel' openly as they all think it, my dear older sister would reconsider herself, parading her bastards as if they were legitimate heirs, worthy of the throne." 

Queen Alicent took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes closing momentarily in a silent plea for patience. She released Aemond's arms, turning away from him, her posture one of weary resignation. "I only wish that you would remember the lessons of mercy taught by the Mother," she said softly. "I understand your anger, Aemond, but you must see that there are alternatives to your actions. Violence, war, death – these are not the sole answers to all our difficulties." 

Aemond felt sour upon his mother’s words, had she always been so blind? "And what would be the 'appropriate' answer, mother, when Rhaenyra learns of your plans with Grandfather? When she discovers your intention to crown Aegon over her?" 

"Aemond, please," Alicent implored, but he pressed on relentlessly. 

"Do you truly believe she will simply just accept it? Do you not see that war and violence are already at our doorstep? Is this not why you arranged my marriage to Lady Dayne – to secure Dorne's support when conflict inevitably breaks out? Consider how our position would weaken if I had allowed the first Dornish lady on our soil since the conquest to be abused on the streets of King's Landing. Prince Quoren might have renounced our alliance entirely. And then what, Mother? Whom would you have me marry? A distant Beesbury cousin? Perhaps some lesser Velaryon to challenge Lord Corlys? What would your grand strategy be, mother?" 

Alicent remained silent, her figure still and composed, even as the tension in the room thickened. Aemond felt like a snarling dragon, spewing fire at the calm and poised figure of his mother – but a dragon could burn down a tower if needed. From his vantage point in the corner, Ser Criston, who had been observing the exchange in silence, finally spoke up, his voice stern. "Prince or not, you will show the proper respect when addressing the Queen." 

Alicent's voice was calm, final. "It is alright, Ser Criston. My son is evidently still distressed from today's events. You may leave us, Aemond." She did not turn back to look at Aemond, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. 

"Mother," Aemond uttered, the anger was still there, but a deep feeling of regret was starting to tightnened in his troath – he had never spoken to his mother this. Had always revered her as the woman who had always loved him, would always love and cherish him, eyes or no eyes. The woman who had taken his side on Driftmark, who had been willing to draw blood for him. So why was he so angry? Because you know of another woman who would have taken your side on Driftmark now, a smooth voice whispered in his mind. He could imagine Lady Dayne, except instead of the little street urchin clinging to you, it was him – holding you as you were soothing him and urling insults to the Strong. Nevertheless, although Aemond knew he had won the argument, the victory was hollow and left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

As Aemond stormed out of his mother's solar, the door slammed shut with a force that was quite petulant and wholly unbefitting of his princely demeanor. The urge to visit Vhagar tugged at him; her presence, the soothing texture of her scales, and the smoldering depths of her yellow eyes often brought him solace in tumultuous times. Soaring through the skies on her back, he found unparalleled freedom, a sense of true self that grounded him amidst the chaos of court life. But today, his steps wavered, his usual path to where Vhagar rested, momentarily forgotten. 

A different impulse guided him instead, steering his course through the corridors of the castle. He caught sight of a maid, her steps quick and purposeful towards the kitchens. In a swift motion, Aemond reached out, his hand gently but firmly grasping her arm. His voice, though laced with the lingering storm of his recent encounter, carried a softer edge. "Tell me, where in the castle is the Dayne retinue lodging?" 

The maid, attempting to maintain her composure, did everything to avoid the intense gaze of his solitary eye, stuttered her reply. "In... the west wing, my prince," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. With a nod of acknowledgement, Aemond released her, his mind now set on a new destination. 

Navigating the labyrinth of corridors towards the West wing, Prince Aemond was in a whirlwind as each step he took was shadowed by uncertainty - would you be there in your quarters? And if so, would you welcome his presence? He wondered if the radiant spark that had lit your eyes earlier, the one that had captivated him so completely, would still shine when faced with him alone. Doubt nagged at him, whispering questions of whether you might prefer solitude over his company. He shook his head, none of it mattered; the second-guessing, the fear. He needed to see you, to lay eyes on you and ensure your well-being. These thoughts propelled him towards your quarters, and he felt more like a dragon than ever before, like a great beast tracking its prey before feasting – unrelenting, with a singular purpose. You.  

As Prince Aemond neared the West wing, he was met with a contingent of guards adorned with the Dayne sigil – a white fallen star against a field of lilac. A frown marred his features. Where had these men been when you needed them most? "I wish to see my betrothed." Aemond’s tone left no place for arguments. 

However, one of the guards, an older man with a graying beard and sharp brown eyes, appeared unmoved by Aemond's royal status and instead eyed the prince distrustfully. "The lady is currently resting after a taxing day... My prince" The last part was definitely added as an afterthought. 

Bastard, Aemond thought angrily, did he not know he was speaking to a prince? How dare this commoner (who had let harm come to you) come between him and his need to see you! Aemond's sneer was barely concealed. "I'm well aware of her trying day, as I was present," he retorted, trying to quell the anger that pulsed in his veins. "Is it a Dornish custom then, that betrothed couples cannot converse? Especially after one of the party saved the other. Quite a peculiar custom if you ask me." 

Another younger guard grumbled “Not as much as fucking your siblings...” If Aemond was not so consumed with thoughts of you, he would have had whipped this guard for the insolence.  

The older guard's expression soured further, his eyes narrowing. "Given today’s events, where one of your men assaulted our lady, you'll understand my prince,” definitely a sneer” “Our caution.”  

"And the man responsible has been dealt with," Aemond countered firmly, his gaze unwavering. 

The standoff continued for a tense moment before the older guard relented under Aemond's intense gaze. For once, Aemond was quite satisfied that his one eye could make even the fiercest of men grow uncomfortable, it helped to get his bidding done. The guard led the prince to a corner door and knocked briskly. "My lady, Prince Aemond is here to see you," he announced. 

The response came in the form of your familiar, melodious voice, which had haunted Aemond's thoughts throughout the day. "Come in!" you called out, and Aemond felt a mixture of relief and apprehension as he prepared to enter. 

Upon opening the room, Aemond was met with a scene quite unexpected. There you were, center stage in the spacious chamber, having exchanged your earlier attire for a strikingly different ensemble. You were adorned in a long, elegant purple tunic with short sleeves that left your arms gracefully exposed. Underneath, a pair of voluminous white breeches reached down to your calves, leaving the lower parts of your legs exposed. Aemond gulped loudly at the sight of you, he had never seen a young lady dressed in such a manner. Were all Dornish ladies such beautiful women, who scorned proper attire? Were all Dornish ladies so... enticing? No, Aemond thought decidedly, you must be one of a kind, a lone bright star in the otherwise dark skies of his life.  

Yet, it was the action before him that truly caught him off guard. You were in the midst of a tussle with the same young boy from earlier - Daven, was it? You were attempting to apply soap to his hair, a task he seemed to be resisting with all the vigor a 5-year-old boy could muster. On the large bed nearby, another boy of a similar age sat, munching on a bright red apple, his eyes wide with fascination as he observed the struggle. 

“My Lady... Am I... Bothering you? Aemond muttered, at a lost feeling like he might be intruding on such a strange, yet merry moment.”  

Your smile bloomed like a desert rose at dawn, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that one might associate with discovering a long-lost treasure, or seeing a long-lost friend... Or lover. Gently, you shifted the still-pouting boy in your arms to face Aemond, calling to him with a warmth that melted the icy barriers around the prince's heart. "Look, Davos! Our brave prince who saved us earlier has come to see us!" The boy, Davos, offered a shy smile and a timid wave, his earlier resistance forgotten in the presence of his hero. 

Aemond felt an unfamiliar flush of warmth spread across his cheeks under your gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, something that seemed to stir the very core of his being. The usual fire that raged within him, driving his every ambition and desire, seemed to simmer down into a comforting warmth, a feeling he couldn't quite place but didn't wish to escape. 

His heart pounding a rapid rhythm, Aemond offered a slight bow. "Might I be of assistance, my Lady?" 

Your response came with an infectious beam. "Another pair of hands would be most welcome." 

Positioning himself to be of help, Aemond muttered, "Guide me to where I can be most useful, my Lady." 

With a soft and tender smile, you replied, "I believe, my prince, that you are perfect just where you are." 

Perfect right where he is?  

Aemond would never leave your side, nothing would ever tear from you and you from him. The Gods had always scorned him since his childhood, this was payment. His due. You were his and he was yours from this day until the end of his days.  

Next chapter

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Witchy Woman (10/10)

0.5 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

LOOK AT THIS STUNNING ARTWORK BY @cocohook38

Summary: When Emma came into her position as Storybrooke Coven Leader, she ended things with the powerful Vampire Overlord, Killian Jones. She’s spent over a decade working alongside him and ignoring the growing tension between them.

During his best mate’s wedding, Killian decides he is done waiting. He is ready to have his mate back in his arms (and bed) again. Emma is not an easy woman to woo, but Killian has never backed down from a challenge.

When Emma’s jilted ex-boyfriend returns to town and Emma goes missing, Killian will stop at nothing to get her back and ensure that nothing can ever separate them again.

Rating: E

CW: Mention of domestic abuse, blood and blood drinking (vampires), threatening situations, minor violence, death, mention of parental death

Entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2023 (@cssns)

Tag: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

Author Note:

I confess that I struggled with this chapter far, far more than I could have predicted. Some of it was stress-induced writer's block that has started to clear as we approach the final stages of this move. Some of it was the fear of ending this in a way that leaves you disappointed.

I have pages and pages of struck material as I debated what to do with this chapter. With the conflict resolved and most of the questions of who, how, and what answered, I wrestled with what ending would make this story feel complete.

After months of writing, rewriting, stalling, scowling, and saying "I need to write this one chapter for my supernatural summer fic this weekend", I humbly set this before you and hope that it was worth the wait.

I cannot thank the CSMM Discord server enough for the encouragement and unfailing support in getting any writing done, but especially for the love and check-ins surrounding this fic. Thank you so, so much.

Finally, extra love to Marta and Krystal for having a sixth sense for when I was writing again. Your notes, check-ins, cheering, listening to my life drama, prayers, and such have meant more to me than you could ever know.

Enjoy! ---- ---- ---- ----

Sometime later...

Killian had never known nerves as he did now. He could feel his hold on his magic slipping as his emotions threatened to get the better of him as though he were a child again - rather than a mature vampire with centuries of experience successfully regulating his emotions and controlling his magic. Not knowing what to do with this abundance of jittery energy, Killian paced around the beautiful, blooming red Middlemist flowers. 

When he pictured this scene in his mind, he thought the flowers would set a romantic scene. They were a favourite of Emma’s and with Ruby’s affinity for earth magic, they’d made a beautiful field of flowers where Regina’s corrupted magic had once left nothing but rot. Now, he wondered if the red was more reminiscent of blood than passion. Maybe the location of that horrible event in their past should not have been revisited for this particular moment. 

He could hear her careful footsteps entering the forest, her steady heartbeat calling to him and calming him all at once. He reached into his pocket - just making sure - and waited for her to arrive at the clearing. 

“Killian,” she called before he could see her, a smile clear in her voice. “You do know…” But whatever she intended to say next failed her as she stepped into sight. "Oh," Emma breathed out. Her eyes were wide as she scanned the flowers now overflowing the grove. 

“I, erm,” Killian’s voice cracked. “You came into my life and filled the bleakest parts of it, of me, with hope, so I wanted to do the same for you.”

“This is beautiful. Thank you.” 

Killian knelt before her and held the intricate ring between them, the sapphire and diamonds glittering in the sunlight. He smiled up at her, the shimmer of tears present in her eyes, and - instantly - all the words he rehearsed for weeks escaped him. “Please, will you share the rest of your life with me?”

Sometime a bit later...

At some point, when Emma was not paying attention, Killian had become essential. It wasn't that she needed him to survive, that fear that had kept her from giving herself over to the pull of their connection when they were younger. Rather, with him, her life was simply better. 

Looking back on it, she realised this was a truth that she had always known - when they spent all those years apart, they still worked together and were friendly. Even with solid walls protecting her heart, she could not deny they made a good team. Now those walls were a distant memory. Now her heart beat in time with his, a ribbon of magic between them confirming the pull she had always felt toward him had always been more than a passing attraction. Killian had once told her they were mates. Mary Margaret had said they shared True Love and that was a powerful, but rather mysterious, magic. Emma thought of it more as two wandering, lost souls finding a home, a sanctuary, in one another. 

Coming home to Killian every night had been a bit of an adjustment. Emma spent her life solving problems for other people, but she often buried her thoughts or issues away. Killian gave her space to exist without and room to…feel. At first, she would apologise for spilling out all her problems or being so needy. He’d pull her into him, ask her about her troubles and validate her feelings until her guilt faded away and just peace remained. Overtime, she realised that this was something she should have always had - space and time to be more than someone else’s problem solver. 

A sharp jab beneath her ribs interrupted her musings. She rubbed her hand against the round protrusion now visible on one side of her hugely pregnant belly. Mary Margaret assured her that her baby bump was perfectly normal, but Emma worried she would never see the stairs below her or be able to pick up something she'd dropped, again. A part of Emma wondered if her little one was maybe too comfortable and would just keep growing and growing... Elsa assured her that her healthy baby boy would be here very soon. Emma had been so thrilled to tell Killian they were having a boy that she forgot to ask Elsa to define “soon.” 

The tiny foot pushed into her palm. Unlike the previous movement, this was a gentle pressure against her hand. As ready as she was to meet her little one, she knew she’d miss having him to herself like this. She knew he was a creature of habit; she could tell the time down to the second based on his movements. About five minutes before her usual lunch break, he would be active except on Wednesdays. He didn’t move much on Wednesdays, probably busy growing and such. After dinner, he got the hiccups. He always played back when she pressed her hand against him. It was strange how much she felt she knew this little creature despite having never seen his face or heard his voice.

"Your smile could ignite wars," Killian said as he crossed to her. He kissed her cheek, "inspire masterpieces." He kissed her other cheek, "and revive the blackest of hearts." He met her lips with a sweet kiss, his hand cradling her jaw and his eyes closed as he savoured the kiss as though it were water and he a man lost in the desert. No matter how often they kissed or how chaste the kiss, Killian savoured them all in this way - as though he had been dying and she had given him the air he needed to survive.

Despite the flush his flowery words brought to her cheeks, she rolled her eyes at him. She wrapped her hand around his and took a small step back, pressing his hand to her pregnant belly where the foot had been moments before. "He's up." 

"Hey, lad." At the gentleness and awe wrapped around those words, Emma's heart threatened to burst. She thought she could not love this vampire more, but still, more depth remained. Sometimes, she wasn't sure her heart could hold it all. 

A series of kicks met his words and touch. Killian's answering smile made her eyes burn with tears - the moment too perfect, too...everything...for her to process. 

"I love you," she said wishing there was another word or phrase to relay the emotions rolling through her in this moment. It was love, sure. But, it felt like so much more. It was bigger, endless and boundless, eternal and ancient. She felt a sudden warmth wrapping around her and flowing through her, Killian's emotions meeting hers and holding them together through that strange bond they shared. 

Even more time later...

Emma’s head rested heavily on his chest. Killian ran his fingers through her hair, gently taming the wild locks that had reached out to tickle his chin. He listened to her heart and breathing as she slept. Despite the soothing sound of her steady heartbeat and the softness of her features as she dreamed, he felt the chill of fear creeping up his spine. 

She will wake with the sun. He held firm to that thought; it was his anchor through this particular storm.

Years may have passed, but the dread he’d felt that long week, as he waited for her to wake, refused to dampen or fade. Rather, it wrapped around his heart and stole quiet moments like this one from him. 

He recalled the evening before in as much detail as he could pry from his memory. The long relieved sigh that had escaped from Emma as she sank into her side of the bed, the soft sound of her voice carrying from Liam’s room as she read last night’s chapter to him and his sister as they drifted off to sleep, her green eyes sparkling with humour when Hope transformed her lamb stew into cereal when Killian refused to give into the toddler’s demand, the comfortable - almost routine - kiss she gave him when she arrived home. Hundreds of similar moments came together to paint the full picture of their life together. Recalling them had loosened the tightness in his chest until he was able to watch his wife as she slept without wondering if she would find his way back to him when morning came.

She rolled off him, taking the covers with her. Rest would be even more elusive than usual this evening. Killian considered slipping out of bed for a late-night drink, but the chill of fear threatened to return. The warmth of Emma’s back pressed against his arm kept him grounded - leaving was not an option tonight. With a sigh, Killian picked a book up from his bedside table and settled in to pass the night. 

A few chapters later, a solid thud from Liam’s room pulled him back out of the story. The soft sound of blankets rustling followed shortly after, his only warning, before the air shimmered and deposited his youngest in his bed. Hope’s small toes were already digging into his side like tiny daggers as she wiggled and snuggled in what little space existed between him and his wife. He wrapped an arm around the little intruder and tucked her close to his chest, hoping not to disturb his wife. Hope turned into him- her head tucked comfortably (for her) in the crook of his arm and her eyes already closed. A soft sound between a coo and a sigh escaped from the intruder - somehow she was asleep once more. Killian watched her in wonder.

“You two are heartbreakingly beautiful together. It’s almost unfair,” Emma teased, her voice a gentle whisper in the night.

“Amazing how they fall asleep so quickly when they crawl in here at night given the battle they wage at bedtime. I am sorry we woke you, love.” He leaned toward her to press a kiss into her temple. But, pinned down as he was beneath the sleeping tot, he could not quite reach. He frowned dramatically at her - take pity on a poor vampire?

With the slightest eye roll, Emma relented and brushed the softest kiss on his cheek. When she pulled back and made to lie back down, his frown deepened into a full pout. A slight curve to her lips was all the warning he got before she leaned forward once more and nipped his bottom lip. She soothed the sting of her teeth with a few deep kisses before breaking their contact with a very self-satisfied smile. 

Killian ran his tongue over his lips to capture the warmth lingering from her kisses. Her loving teasing had melted away the last of his earlier anxieties. She slipped from the bed, his shirt falling to her thighs, and disappeared down the hallway. He smiled at her disappearing form and, content with his daughter in his arms and a lightness in his heart, drifted off to sleep. 

Much later… 

It was Sunday, so the delicious rich scent of a roast permeated through the house. He found Emma in the kitchen with flour covering her arms and the tip of her nose as she formed a pie crust. It would be spiced apple pie since that was Artie's favourite and Emma doted upon the child. Killian was also known to spoil the young boy, but who could blame them?

Killian was fairly certain that Hope’s little boy was the most perfect creature ever to have been formed, so they took every opportunity to shower Artie with all the adoration and love they could.

Being a parent had been a journey - sometimes rewarding and sometimes endlessly frustrating. Being a grandparent, however, was an absolute delight. Not only did he get to watch his strong-willed, independent daughter grow into a compassionate and endlessly patient mother, but he also got to soak up the phases of Artie's childhood in a way he hadn't as a parent. Rather than anticipating the next developmental milestone, worrying over the best school decision, or trying to figure out the best strategy to parent finding his child on the top of the kitchen cabinets at four in the morning, he found his role as a grandparent allowed him to be able to just play again. 

“Are you revealing your secret project today?” 

“I believe it is ready.” Killian looked out of the window overlooking the play set he had been designing and building over the last few weeks. Since Artie was over a few times a week, hiding the mammoth from the little pup had been quite a challenge, but Killian had somehow managed.

“The pirate ship theme is a nice touch. Artie loves your high seas tales, even as unbelievable as many of them had become…” Emma said as she smiled up at him. The sight stole his breath, as it had the first time she turned the full force of her unfiltered smile on him. Would there ever be a time where this woman would fail to affect him so deeply? 

“Are you accusing me of embellishing my stories?” Killian asked with mock offence. 

“It has been a few hundred years. You cannot be blamed for misremembering a few details.”

“I have fabricated no details of my experiences.”

Emma cocked in eyebrow - or tried to, Killian was still the most skilled that that trick - in disbelief. “The kraken, Killian?” 

“Every word of it is true.”

“Oh, yes. The kraken saw into your soul and deemed you a kindred soul and so joined your fight against the Royal Navy.” Killian’s ears turned a pink, even as he confirmed that, that was the truth of it. “It had nothing to do with your crew sneaking the fish you were feeding the monster for over a month onto their ships the night before the battle.”

“Aye...well, that might’ve played a small part,” Killian admitted sheepishly. 

“Mmhmm,” Emma agreed. She was pouring the filling into the crust - cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar warmed the air around them. 

Home. Both the feeling and the word filled him at present. He’d always pictured it as a building, a physical safe harbour to weather one’s life. But after decades spent with Emma, he knew it could be found in a relationship, in another person, and in the life that you create with them. 

“PAPA!” The shout was the only warning he had before his grandson launched at him, propelling them down to the floor in a heap of giggles. Today, their home would be filled with the family they created and there was nothing more Killian dared to want. 

Much, much later…

The legend that soul mate lifespans were entwined was proven true as decades of life faded into centuries. They shared joys beyond what either of them had dared dream. They weathered storms together, learning to turn in toward one another when they needed strength or a haven in which to be vulnerable. And through it all, they held fast to one another, secure in the love they shared and the partner with whom they shared it. 

In other words, they truly lived happily ever after.

Notes:

Oh, I hope you enjoyed this. I have been really anxious about hot to end this work and I really, really hope that you enjoyed the glimpses of their ever after. I look forward to hearing from you... even if I've let you down a bit. (If so, I am very sorry. I cannot emphasise just how many rewrites and attempts I made at this - and this is the one that felt the most right to me. I would ABSOLUTE understand if it doesn't feel as such to you.)

[truefandemonium]

Hi sweetheart!! Your number 1 fan here 🤗

Can I request for a fic where King and reader have a very special relationship where both of them love each other, but they never admitted their feelings. One day she gets shot and King freaks out, almost crying and finally admits his feelings for her. The rest is up to you, love! Hope you like it, hun. Sending lots of love 🤗💖

Thanks so much again for the request! Sorry this one took so long to come out 😭 I hope this one is as good as the other you requested! I struggled a little bit with some of the emotional scenes but hopefully it fits what you were wanting to see!! Much love!!

“For Every Moment”

[Dr King Schultz x Fem!Reader] (Mature)

TW: Blood, violence, strong language, innuendo

Tags: fluff, angst, love confessions, soulmates, possessiveness, tending to wounds, kissing, bed sharing

5,285 words

…

You always wondered if King felt the same way about you as you did him.

The flirting, mostly from you, so it happened, was nice. As were the gentle touches— which lingered longer in the dark of campsites and after private interactions in tavern hallways. On long rides across desert landscapes, you would find King’s eyes wandering to land on you— his gaze rarely left your face, and you wouldn’t expect anything else from such a self-proclaimed gentleman. However, there was once when you’d been down at the river washing yourself and had forgotten to warn neither King nor Django, and the men happened upon you half nude.

Django couldn’t have cared less, stripping down and taking his own corner of the undertow to bathe in, not giving you a second glance, while King turned a shade of red you’d thought was reserved only for tomatoes, and after taking a prolonged look of shock at your breasts, turned tail and fled back to the wagon. He couldn’t even look in your direction the rest of that day, keeping his chin tucked into his chest and hat pulled low over his brow to avoid your eyes.

You’d found the whole thing quite funny, if not slightly embarrassing on your behalf, but King refused to speak of it again, shying away from the mere mention of the occurrence.

Which was why it made this whole thing so damn confusing. Did he love you or didn’t he? Perhaps in Germany, the men were simply more prone to shows of romanticism. You shake your head to yourself as you lean forward and stir the beans in the pot over the fire with a wooden spoon. Maybe you’d never know what was going on in King’s head. Either way, you’d enjoy his company until your last breath, and happily.

“Something on your mind, frauline?” King’s buttery voice breaks into your thoughts as you sit back down on the log in front of the fire, and you panic for a moment, watching him out the corner of your eye as he approaches and takes a seat across from you.

“No, nothing,” you say, wondering how to breach the subject plaguing you. Debating whether or not you should at all…

“You have the look of a kicked pup, my dear,” the man purrs, his tone so convincing and gentle. “You’re certain there is nothing I can do to ease your burden?” You just want to melt when you hear him speak— like a glass of whiskey; making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

But you shake your head again, suddenly choked at the thought of telling him your true feelings for him. “I’m fine, King— really.” The lie is obvious, and you regret it as soon as it leaves your lips, noticing the way the scorn hits King like an arrow to the chest.

He practically winces as he nods. “My apologies— I do not mean to pry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, wrestling with yourself. You pull the pot off the fire and nod your thanks as King stands and holds out two small tin cups for you to scoop the food into cautiously. “It’s just…” You stop as Django returns from where the horses are tied several yards away, the thickness returning to your throat.

Django instantly senses your odd behavior, his eyes narrowing as he takes one of the tin cups from King’s outstretched hand. You blink at him, silently pleading for him to give you and King space, and thankfully, he picks up on your desperate expression.

Poking a spoon into his cup of beans, Django glances between you and King with a sniff, grumbling, “Need some air. I’ll be… over there.” He jerks his head sideways and starts off into the desert, and you instantly feel a twinge of guilt, alongside relief.

King, confused, opens his arms wide, gesturing to the wide open space around you. “You have all the air of Texas, dear Django!”

The ex-slave just waves one hand above his head, calling as playfully as you ever hear him, “Not with what you two got hangin’ in it.”

You flush at his words, and King’s gaze flicks back to you, his green eyes wide. “Oh?” he says, clueless, which only makes you burn further, setting the pot down after dishing your own helping. “I didn’t realize we had things to discuss,” he says slowly, sitting back down, his eyes still glued to you. As he sees your expression, suddenly teary eyes and red face, his own gaze changes; softens with realization. “Oh,” he adds in a near whisper, swallowing.

“Frauline,” he says gently, the firelight casting shadows across his worn face. “I do hope you know that you can always speak to me.” He tries to joke, adding with a stressed chuckle, “I cannot promise that my advice will be all that helpful, but—”

“No, see— King, that’s the problem,” you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. “I… I can tell you anything— everything. And I do. But you—” You look up and see the way his brow is furrowed, confusion clouding his gaze. You say gently, “You don’t tell anyone anything at all, King. Not even me.”

At that, he smiles ruefully, even the small gesture making your belly tighten. “Ach, mein lieb,” he sighs softly, “I am an old man. I do not expect a girl like yourself to be a confidant, and that is not something you should ever feel is required of you—”

“But I want to be,” you argue. King seems taken aback, even leaning up from where his forearms had been resting on his knees to look at you.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I need you to know this: I love you.”

Your heart stops in this moment, and you’re sure if physics weren’t against you— you’d be floating right up into the stars above your head.

King continues, gesturing to the dark desert where his partner has just disappeared to, “Just as I love our dear Django. You two are my closest compatriots— dare I say friends.” At that, he smiles, and you feel your chest begin to constrict, sadness creeping up your throat and threatening to steal your breath away. Friends, right. Nothing more. But as quick as it had appeared, King’s smile leaves again, in lieu of his expression growing deadly serious. “And that means that you are both at a greater risk for being the targets of unhappy acquaintances of bad men I have a duty to dispatch. I enjoy your company— and always have. But I will not allow myself to be the reason either of you get hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you try to reason, simply wanting to hear him admit that he likes you more than he’s letting on.

“Then what—” King’s words are cut off by Django’s sudden and panicked return from the desert; the fellow bounty hunter practically sprinting to your side, eyes huge and breathing heavy.

“Damn rattlesnake ‘bout bit my ass up,” he pants, jerking one thumb over his shoulder.

“You what?” King asks, clearly having been so focused on snapping back at you that he hardly heard his friend.

Django frowns, saying in a choppy, disdainful tone, “A rattler, King. Almost bit. My ass. The hell up.” His brown eyes flick between you and King, trying to gauge the tension there. “You two done bickerin’, then?”

King looks at you, his gaze managing to still remain confused even after your outburst. “I did not think any bickering occurred, Y/N—?”

You stand up without looking at him, pushing your half-eaten tin cup of beans into Django’s hands. “I’m not hungry. Goodnight, Django.” You turn slightly and mutter, “Night, King.”

As you make your way toward the horses to acquire your bedroll, you don’t see the way Django shrugs and sits down to begin digging into your leftovers— nor how King watches you go with a broken expression. There was so much he wanted to say… he just didn’t know how.

Little did you know, this was the first time in King’s life he’d found himself speechless.

…

“Dammit fuck, King, he’s getting away!” Django curses, his burning eyes glued to the form of the desperado booking it across the sandy desert.

King smiles, his silver beard catching the sunlight beating down from above, his green eyes shimmering as he watches the horse gallop with his bandit rider atop him.

“Django, my boy— patience is one part of bounty hunting you need to learn sooner than later,” King tells him, his tone stern but affectionate.

“Yeah? Well I’d rather pop this sumbitch a bullet right up his ass before he has time to tell all his buddies that somebodys are skulkin’ around up in the desert,” Django barks back, seething.

“That ‘somebodys’ ‘d be us, right?” you ask, sitting placidly on the wagon, playing with Fritz’s reins.

King speaks before Django can annoyedly answer you. “I was going to let you figure it out yourself but since your common sense has seemed to have deserted you at this time, I will explain.” King leans over Fritz to stare at Django and say slowly, “We are missing two of three outlaws. That one—” King points toward the disappearing shape of the man on the run without looking away from his partner. “—will lead us directly to the other two, that we are looking for.”

Django’s eyes flash with understanding and he curls his lip in a growl.

“Do you understand now, why we are going to simply follow him instead of impulsively putting a bullet in his brain?” King asks him.

The other man glowers for a moment before responding. “Yeah, you don’t gotta be so con-sendin’ ‘bout it,” Django snarls, hopping atop his horse and clicking his tongue to steady the beast.

King just smiles. “I prefer the term patronizing, but yes, condescending works, too. I will continue to use that tone until you learn to trust me,” he says, and Django nods ruefully. “You know I only have either of your best interests at heart,” King reminds you both, getting onto the wagon beside you. With a grin, he adds, “And money, of course. You really think I’d sabotage a bounty for my ego?”

Django rolls his eyes, lips twitching up into a smirk as he replies, “With you, doc— can’t never be too sure.”

King chuckles, the sound making butterflies take off in your belly, and you distract yourself from his utter perfection by handing the reins off and awaiting departure.

“Ready, my dear?” King asks you, and you swallow, nodding. You want desperately to bring up the talk last night— but you can’t. You just wish you could poke around in his mind until finding the honest truth behind his affection for you.

But before you can even try to see past his gaze to find out the intention behind his words, he’s telling Fritz to giddyup and flicking the reins commandingly. You try not to watch the side of his face as he calmly drives the stage, his brow unfurrowed and a soft smile playing on his lips.

You wonder how he can be so unbothered by everything— when you feel like your very world is crumbling without knowing how he feels about you. You force yourself not to dwell on it. Getting into a deadly situation while stuck in your own head could spell disaster, and you need to be the lookout for your two partners.

After a considerable time following the tracks of your runaway bandit, you arrive in a near-ghost town, streets empty and buildings falling apart. No wonder the trio chose this place to hideout, they’d never be suspected to be found here.

King pulls the wagon up to a tree down the street from a saloon, where he glares and points out a familiar horse to Django, accompanied by two others. The two men dismount and begin muttering to each other, guns on their hips ready to go while you look on in awe. No matter how many times you see it, you’re still in wonder of their ability to work together like a machine, producing bodies of bad men like it’s nothing, and then profiting from it.

You wait atop the wagon behind Fritz until King turns to you and orders, “Stay on the wagon, alright? If you hear two or more shots, and neither me or Django comes out— take his horse to the nearest town, about ten miles that way, and get the sheriff.”

“You’re scaring me with that kinda talk,” you tell him, hating the moments that he gets so serious about collecting bounties. Most often, Django and King make jokes and promises for grand sleeping arrangements in hotels before going to do a job. But every once in a while, King gets a twinge of anxiety, and makes you promise not to try and avenge his death in the scenario he’s killed by his own target.

King chuckles softly, now, dipping his head. “I’m sorry, frauline. I do tend to catastrophize things. I will be out in six minutes, how is that?”

You smile. “Make it five.”

“I’ll make it two if you both shut up in the next ten seconds,” Django interrupts, narrowing his eyes at the saloon down the dusty street.

You and King fall silent, and changing one last (what you hope is meaningful) glance before the two hunters depart from you, and you wring the hem of your dress in your sweaty fist as you wait for them to return.

You watch with a knot in your stomach as they disappear one after the other into the saloon, your eyes finally wandering away from the door and coming to rest on the wagon seat you’re sitting on.

Your heart stutters at the sight of King’s crumpled paper sitting there, right next to your clenched fist. You scramble to pick it up and read it, recognizing it as the arrest order from the judge for the three men inside the saloon with Django and Dr King Schultz.

Shit. King needs this paper, he always takes the judge’s order with him on a job! Panic floods you, and you stand up, hurrying off the wagon and down the street, heart racing.

You’ll be quick. You’ll simply appear with the order, make sure it’s in King’s hand before racing back out— nothing more.

You reach the saloon and get close enough to hear voices. Fear grips you at the sound of arguing.

“You’ll never get all of us, you son of a bitch!” someone yells, and you hear the bang of a bullet being fired as the saloon doors burst open. A stranger races out and collides with you as scream, your head hitting the hard ground with a smack.

The world spins as more sounds ring out, and suddenly you’re being dragged to your feet by a man’s strong hand. An arm winds itself around your throat, too tightly for comfort, and when your eyes focus again, you see Django and King standing in shocked horror just outside the saloon.

The man holding you against his front calls, “Let me and Jake go and you can have the girl! Or else—” You suck in a gasp as you feel the cold barrel of a revolver dig painfully into your side, and you struggle against his hold.

You see King’s eyes fill with fury and pain at the sight of it, his fists flexing at his sides. Django, contrastingly, is calm and still as he stands before you, analyzing the situation with a careful eye. It seems like the first time that Django has ever been the collected one, compared to King.

“William—” King says slowly, but you can hear the way he’s nearing his breaking point. “Let the girl go, she is not part of this—”

“She sure as hell is, now!” the man holding you screams, and you wince as the gun prods you again. You finally notice now, another man standing only a few feet away, unarmed. He looks between all of you fearfully, malice radiating off of him.

“King, shut the fuck up,” Django hisses, not taking his eyes off the man keeping you in a tight chokehold. Panic begins to set in and you start to thrash in his grasp.

“Hold still, you bitch—!” the man grunts, his hand moving to cover your mouth. You shriek as his nails dig into the flesh of your cheek, and you strain, rearing back to elbow him hard in the stomach.

“Leave her alone!” King screams, his eyes huge and filled with terror as Django’s jaw clenches.

“King!” the other man yells, lifting his gun and letting off two rounds in quick succession. But you hear three.

The first man— Jake— drops to the earth in a moment, his corpse sprawled out and bloody.

You feel William’s hand slowly release your face, the marks his nails left already beginning to sting as blood pricks at the surface.

And then you feel the heat in your belly. Warm— no, hot. And wet— you glance down and blink a few times at the growing stain of crimson just below your ribs, on your left side. You don’t even feel the pain until you tip over.

The world must stop for a moment, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes again, King is there, clutching you desperately to his chest as he leans over your body.

“Ach Gott, mein Gott, nein, nein,” King whispers, his green eyes traveling across your face and body, tears pricking at the edges of his vision as he takes it all in. The blood leaking from your side, the pale skin of your face, growing paler by the second. “Please, no,” he begs in a breaking tone, his hands firmly holding you.

“King—?” you manage to croak, your hand slipping upwards and finding purchase around his coat collar. You grip it like a lifeline, your pounding heart beginning to stutter. “Don’t go—!”

“I’m here, frauline,” he tells you, his eyes never leaving your face. “I’m staying right here, I swear it.”

“It— ah— it hurts,” you whimper, the pain now ripping through you like a whirlwind.

“I know,” King says, his normally smooth voice breaking a bit. “I know, and I am so sorry, mein Liebling.”’

“Don’t be,” you cry, emotion starting to choke you. “I— I should have—”

“No, schiesse, Y/N, this is not your fault,” he says, stopping you. He shifts you in his arms so your chests are nearly flush— you can feel his heart hammering his ribs as he speaks. “I should not have let you get close enough for this to happen. Curse every moment I let pass without telling you… I should have just told you last night—”

“Told me…?” For a moment, the pain is gone. All you feel is a sudden rush of hope. Of affection.

King has never cried in front of you. This time is no different. But he gets damn close. His voice shakes and his verdant eyes grow wet with unshed tears as he confesses at long last, “That I love you.”

He shuts his eyes now, the tears dropping to land in his beard. The last thing you feel like doing is crying, however. Even with your gaping wound, you feel like you could dance. You’re lighter than air.

But King isn’t finished. He shakes his head to recenter himself and chokes out, “More than love, Y/N— I adore you. I crave you. Do you have any idea how long I have waited— longed to hold you?” His hand, calloused, yet surprisingly clean, and oh-so gentle, comes up to push a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked temple.

You shiver at his soft touch and decide to throw caution to the wind. If this is to be your last moment alive, you’re going out taking what you’ve always wanted.

Still holding tightly to his collar, you pull hard, half yanking him down to your level and half lifting yourself to reach him— and slam your lips against his.

The world erupts in butterflies and sun bursts of every color and magnitude. King’s lips against your own feel so right; interlocking with yours in an explosion of warmth and taste and comfort. His tongue finds yours, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, startling him to pull away in concern.

He pants, his cheeks already a quiet rosy red and his eyes wide and glittery with affection as he gazes at you in silent wonder.

You wish you had more time, more energy, but your strength is waning. In lieu of another kiss, you manage, “King— I’ve always loved you, too.”

King blinks in apparent shock, an almost disbelieving chuckle pulled from his chest as a smile tugs the corner of his lip.

But he has no time to say more, because then you hear the scuffle of boots on sand and suddenly Django is there, too. He crouches low and inspects your body with a scrutinous gaze— though you can tell how desperately he doesn’t want you to know he’s scared.

“I need to see how bad it is,” the man says, almost to himself before looking up at you. You thank the heavens he isn’t mentioning the atrociously dramatic confession you just received, nor the equally impulsive kiss. “I gotta lift up your skirts, girl,” Django says sternly, his brown eyes pinning you in place as you hang in King’s arms.

King’s grasp on you tightens defensively for just a moment before he returns to his senses and nods briskly. He looks deep in your eyes before laying you down on your back in the sand and ripping off his coat to cover your soon-to-be-bare legs.

You hardly notice as Django carefully but urgently pulls the cotton layers of your dress above your hips, then a bit further to reveal your belly (thank goodness you weren’t wearing a corset), because your eyes are intently glued to the way King’s white shirt sticks to his shoulders and chest, sweat making the cloth form to his muscular body as he watches Django study your wound. You wish you could see past his vest, too, but now is really not the time to ask for a strip tease.

You blink your thanks as King lays his coat down over your legs— not scandalous, as you’re wearing bloomers that reach your mid thigh, but still more than you’ve ever been exposed to either of these men (aside from the aforementioned fateful incident at the river).

Django mutters something for you to prepare yourself before laying his hands on your side and checking the size of the shot. You cry out, and King’s hand instantly finds yours, letting you squeeze him as the pain subsides.

You open your eyes after a moment and are surprised to see Django smiling, teeth flashing and everything. He looks at you and smiles wider. “You're one lucky bitch, you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulls your dress back down over your legs and uses King’s coat to wrap tightly around your injured waist.

“She’ll be just fine, we jus’ need a doc to stitch her up…” you hear Django telling King over you as you begin to drift off. The loss of blood has made you sleepy, unsurprisingly, and although it seems a bad idea, you just can’t help closing your eyes, just for a moment…

…

You wish you could remember the ride here— wherever you’ve ended up. You’re certain King held you the whole way while Django drove the wagon. Maybe you’re completely wrong, but the presence of a snoring Dr. King Schultz at your bedside confirms your suspicion that he hasn’t left your side since you were shot.

Speaking of which…

You shift with a wince and look under the covers to prod at your side curiously. It hurts, of course, but whatever drug they gave you sure has helped with the pain. Your head swims pleasurably, though perhaps that’s the after effects of your kiss with King.

You lie back down on the considerably cushy pillow and turn to gaze at the sleeping form of your beloved King Schultz. His body cocked sideways so he’s facing your bed, coat off, hat in his lap. His head rests on the back of the chair, brown furrowed deeply above his scrunched-shut eyes.

You decide to risk waking him from his gorgeous sleep and slide your hand upward to cup his bearded jaw.

As your fingers brush the stubble along his throat, King snaps awake, snorting gently as his hand snatches your wrist in an instinctive defensive response. His wide eyes pin you before recognition seeps in, and he softens his grasp on your wrist, bringing his other hand up instantly to gently cradle your palm.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sitting up and never taking his eyes from you.

You smile shyly, feeling bare beneath his gaze. Not that you'd exactly protest. King’s own lips turn upward as he stares at you.

“How do you feel?” he asks you concernedly, his hold soft and warm and strong. His grip doesn’t waver, like now that he has you, he’s not ever going to let go. And you want to bask in the safety of it forever.

You nod. “I’m alright, King. I’m doing just fine…”

King chuckles, in that way that reminds you of the way he broke down when he held you in his arms only yesterday. “My dear— you nearly stopped my heart with that little stunt of yours.”

“Stunt?” you echo, giggling at how suddenly nonchalant he sounds about the ordeal. Though you know he’s only trying to keep the conversation light.

His brows raise, and he plasters a mock-serious expression on his worn face. “Well, yes— didn’t you do that to get my attention?”

“You wish,” you snort, pumping his hands up and down once weakly with your own.

King smiles, warm and sweet, like honey. It’s contagious, it seems, because soon so are you.

“Y/N, truly— what possessed you to leave the horses yesterday, mein frauline?” King’s eyes grow genuinely serious, now, and you feel a twinge of guilt at the memory.

“I don’t know… I thought I was helping— it’s all so silly, now…” You hang your head, and King tuts gently, moving one hand to slowly lift your chin with his knuckle.

“We don’t need to discuss it if you don’t wish,” he tells you.

You argue, “No, I do! There’s— well, I’m afraid to ask you, but I need to know…”

The man before you blinks worriedly. “Anything.”

You feel a familiar sting at the back of your throat, tears threatening to choke you, but you force the words out around the lump. “Was it true?” You blink until your vision is clear again and continue, “What you said to me yesterday.”

King blinks, too, his eyes huge as he swallows thickly. You watch the bob of his throat and focus on the way he exhales softly, weighing his reply.

“It was a very tense moment and in tense moments I tend to say and do things that—”

“Was it true or wasn’t it?” you demand, pulling your hand out of his grasp, and you see the hurt enter his gaze instantly. You pin him with your burning eyes, not as furious as you’re desperate to hear him say he meant every word.

You sigh in relief as he stands from his chair to loom over your prone body, bringing his once-bloodstained hands up to cup your face. His eyes bore into yours as he mutters with a tone so deadly it makes your bones chill and alight simultaneously, “My dear, it was all true and more.” King’s green eyes flick across your face, studying every inch of you as he whispers, “If you were not so recently injured— and of course as long as thou doth not protest—” He momentarily smirked at his own quip before returning straight-lipped. “—I would take you apart in this bed right here and now. You deserve to be adored, mein leibe, every moment of every day.” Your breath stutters at his words, soaking up the sudden tears teasing the edges of his vision as he croaks out, “I was a fool for waiting this long to speak my truth, and for that— I offer my deepest apologies.” Without waiting for you to reply, King presses in to lock his lips onto yours. You gasp just before his teeth click against yours, his kiss firm and passionate, and speaking volumes. This kiss says you’re his, now. This kiss says he wants you, too.

You melt into it, arms wrapping around his shoulders and inadvertently toppling him off balance, dragging him down toward your body. He slams one hand down on the side of your head to keep himself from landing his weight on your injury, and you smirk playfully up at him through your lashes.

You take in the sight of his cheeks pink, his breathing heavy, hair falling in soft waves into his eyes as he hovers above you. You whisper, “I could get used to this.”

King sucks in a breath, embarrassment obvious in the way his face turns even redder, and he scolds gently, “Not until you are better, frauline.”

“I’d feel better if I wasn’t all alone in here,” you admit, and King’s brows raise again. You demonstrate your point by scooting to accommodate him and he pushes himself up and off of you, noticing the new space at your side in the bed. You lift the covers and pat the mattress, even, driving it home.

“Ah,” King realizes, his mannerisms screaming barely contained want as he wrings his hands. “I don’t think the nurses would be so keen—”

You shrug. “You kill thieves and murderers for a living,” you remind him, “and you’re scared of a few nurses?”

“I suppose you’re right.” King grins at your cheekiness and opens his arms wide. “Well, who can resist those charms of yours, you gorgeous devil?”

You giggle in victory as King kicks off his boots and pulls his suspenders down to hang at his sides as he takes the space next to you.

You sigh happily as you feel his body come flush to yours, and you’re quick to pin him with one arm draped over his belly, which softly heaves with each breath. “You’re perfect,” you whisper as you study his profile, fondling his beard with your curious hand.

King laughs softly. “My love, I don’t think you know what perfect means.” He turns and does his own fondling of your face, once again trailing his palm along your jaw. “Unless you have been studying your reflection in the mirror.”

“Don’t ever leave me,” you beg, suddenly, and King's eyes flicker with compassion and longing.

“Y/N,” he promises, leaning his head gently against your own. “I will do no such thing as long as I live.”

“And you’ll love me forever?” you ask hopefully.

Your heart thrums as a wicked, beautiful smile spreads across King’s face, nothing in his eyes but desperate devotion to you. “I swear, I’ll make up for every single second I ever let you doubt my affection for you, Liebling.”

With that, he kisses you once more, unlike the other times. This time it’s soft and tender and full of hope. It’s a promise. A promise that nothing will ever keep him from you again.

…

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Kakeru and Yamato

Mitsuru and Koichi

Haruhiko and Rio

Ooo, I like these options!

Kakeru and Yamato

Kakeru and Yamato are fantastic, they love each other so deeply and it was really fun for me to watch them work through their feelings for each other as they progressed from friends to lovers. There are so many different structural set ups I love in romance stories. I love the freaks, I loved the fucked up people, I loved the contradictory characters, the happySads, etc. But something that I look for when I’m watching these shows is friendship. Sure these characters love each other, sure they want to fuck each other, but do they like each other? Do they have fun together? I think for me to really lean in to a relationship in a show, they have to sell me their connection either through their affection, their devotion, or both. Teh and Oh will almost certainly break up and get back together about four more times before things get sorted, but I believe there isn’t really anyone else for them. Their connection is magnetic. Pat and Pran have fun, they compete in everything, they wrestle, the goof off. Kakeru and Yamato were friends first. So while I am much more of a happy for now kind of person, I at the very least believe they will make it quite some time together because they like each other and they love each other. 

I appreciate greatly when a couple is able to communicate, and so while I wish they hadn’t gotten interrupted quite so many times throughout the show, I did enjoy the fact that they were constantly attempting to talk to one another openly and honestly about what was going on. I love Yamato backtracking when he thinks he’s made Kakeru uncomfortable, and Kakeru immediately telling him that isn’t the case. I love every iteration of the quiet, reserved boy whose emotions don’t usually cross his face gets some time alone with the loud, bubbly boy whose emotions can never quite be contained and their tension just starts melting away. I love seeing Yamato smile when he’s with Kakeru. 

Also shout out to these boys for one of the best kisses of the year. Thank you, Yamato for finally kissing your boyfriend, interruptions be damned. 

Mitsuru and Koichi

Perhaps the most important thing to me about Eternal Yesterday is how intensely it solidifies the love between Mitsuru and Koichi. Koichi always walked closest to the street, because he knew their walk was dangerous and he didn’t want Mitsuru to be the one to get hurt. Koichi died far too soon because he was protecting his boyfriend. And Koichi lived again because the love they had for each other brought them back. Koichi withheld his own peace, his own rest, to be there for Mitsuru until he could come to terms with Koichi’s death. Mitsuru loved Koichi so much, Koichi was able to take form once again, Mitsuru loved Koichi so much he almost willed him back to life. He loved Koichi back in to his body, he loved Koichi back in to warmth. Koichi was sunshine, and Koichi was tired, and Koichi was slowly fading from the memories of everyone else around him. But Mitsuru held on. Mitsuru held on for dear life. He held on so tightly for so long. And Koichi let him. Because Koichi knew how loved he was. Because Koichi loves Mitchan just as much. 

I know some people think the ending of Eternal Yesterday is tragic. But I don’t think it is. I think it is melancholy, but I also think it is beautiful. Five years later and Mitsuru has not gotten over Koichi’s death. And that’s okay. Because I do believe he’s made some sort of peace. Who knows if he will ever love someone as much as he loved Koichi ever again, but how beautiful for him to know for certain how much Koichi loved him in return. 

Haruhiko and Rio

At risk of you taking away all of my electronics until I can exert some modicum of self-control, I think I need to rewatch The Pornographer series. You’d think for a relationship that started out with as many lies and manipulations as it did, that they’d have a less healthy/mature relationship, but alas. I think they are genuinely good together, and I did really enjoy watching their relationship progress. I don’t know why the scene where Haruhiko finally catches on that he is re-writing Rio’s previously published novels stands out to me so much as The Scene between them. Maybe I think it is a really good indicator of their base personalities, and the way they will function together. Rio may be trying shit, but Haruhiko is studious, he does pay attention, and he will eventually catch on to the bullshit Rio is pulling and call him on it. 

Despite the fact that I do think Haruhiko and Rio work well and I’m happy where we leave things with this series.  I don’t think Haruhiko and Rio’s relationship stuck with me as much as Rio and Kido’s did, mostly cause we have so few shows that actually dedicate as much time and energy in to showing an old relationship that didn’t work as we do here. Usually we get a shitty ex, occasionally we get a lovers to friends scenario. Rarely, extremely rarely do we get an entire prequel series that explores an old relationship and provide so much rich context for who they are as people, how they got to where they are in life, and why a different relationship will work where theirs failed. 

And on top of that I think I am just so much more intrigued by Rio’s life and psyche as an individual than I am to his actual relationship with Haruhiko, though to be fair so much of that psyche does inform how they interact. Rio’s just a fucking freak who faked an arm injury so he could guilt trip a hot boy in to hanging out with him, and I had a lot of fun watching him try Haruhiko 2: Electric Boogaloo on another boy, since it seemed to work out so well the last time.

Send Me a Ship and I’ll Share My Thoughts

[astralfrontier]

I think I've figured out what I don't like about Star Trek Discovery. But to explain it, I have to talk about what I do like, and where I am - which is midway through Season 2.

First, Michael Burnham, herself, is a good character. She's confident, talented, driven, capable of making mistakes (and makes a very big one at the opening of the show), but also capable of taking big risks and coming out on top. She admits when she's wrong, but she's not afraid to tell other people when they are. For the most part, she's the sort of character we're told Starfleet wants to have as officers.

Second, she's surrounded by interesting oddballs. Stamets is a wonderful academic who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty, and he's got a loving and tender relationship which is a fucking rarity in Starfleet. Tilly is like a visitor from a more mature Lower Decks. And so on. It's really Michael's show, but she's got a good crew around her - some of whom can give her orders.

Third, the ship's concept is really neat. It's a combination flying science labs and black-ops project, like Half-Life's Black Mesa in space.

So I'm still watching the show, because I feel all this potential there, but I sometimes wrestle with it. And here's why.

Every plotline has to orbit Michael Burnham. Most recently, she takes a mentally tortured Vulcan to a planet for help and the point of being on that planet, seemingly, is to just tell her a story about what happened, then see some exposition. That trip could have just happened, she could look angsty while specialists do their work, and then there's a scene of truth if not reconciliation.

But this isn't an isolated case. Just over and over, the writing pushes her to the center of the action. She's got personal connections to every single thing that matters. Some hypothetical time traveler could apparently screw up the Federation for centuries just by messing with her timeline a tiny bit.

The times when this doesn't happen - like when it's Stamets, not her, in a time loop - are so delicious, because she's smart and clever and has this out of context problem thrown at her repeatedly, and she prevails. It's episodes like this that convince me Burnham is a good character independent of the spotlight the writers seem intent on locking onto her 24/7.

(This is also my problem with Voyager - some of the characters there are good, some are meh, a few are fantastic, but MY GOD the writing is like a vampire that just sucks the enjoyment out of watching it)

The show is having wild hate-sex with TOS-era canon. The show really, really wants to remind you that it's the immediate prequel to TOS. Like look, here's Captain Pike, here's Spock, there's the Enterprise, but we're also going to drop this multiversal mushroom network on you out of NOWHERE, we're going to a lot of stuff with Klingons, we're just doing all this wild shit.

I'm glad they're swinging for the fences though. The Sphere is probably the most impactful encounter they have in Season 2 in terms of its story impacts, and it's just such a wonderful TOS-era thing. There's this big weird object in space, there's literally nothing like it anywhere else, it's dangerous but not malicious, we're going to pit Federation ingenuity against the puzzle it represents, and we're going to have a good outcome if we're lucky.

The show sure likes to sleep on its ensemble. I love Saru and Stamets and Tilly, but I wish we'd heard more about that weird cyborg lady, Airiam, who's on the bridge before she's under it. They dropped TIG NOTARO on us as a sassy engineer, give her more love. Detmer clearly has a ton of emotion she's processing. I want to see her actress, Emily Coutts, in more stuff. It feels like they almost put in too many characters and then shone spotlight on the same few all the time, and then would pull others from their back pocket for moments of drama.

All of these things are why I'm looking forward to Season 3, where it seems the writers hit the reset button on a lot of this and are trying something new. I don't know if it'll be a better new, but it'll solve the problems Season 1-2 have given me. And I want to see what Strange New Worlds does.

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

War and Pieces of Each Other

⚔️ All Previous Parts Here ⚔️

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: future ABO, Vikings, fae, Viking Col, fae Dom, Col being cocky and dumb, Dom being emotional, talks of death, talks of war, talks of childhood trauma (parent death, child abuse, domestic violence between parents) PTSD, references to Dom almost being attacked by Bjørn, cursing, misuse of insults, talk of mpreg, snippy boys, slow burn ☠️ rating: mature ☠️ ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

Dom had seemed off for days and Kol'son was starting to think it wasn't only his impending bleed. They'd had an incredible night that he was still reeling from, he hadn't expected to ever tell someone his darkness but he'd also believed no one would be worthy of his mother's necklace. Before Dom that is. They'd talked and the boy had made him feel pleasure like he'd never thought possible and they'd spent the day in bed happy and madly in love but ever since… something was wrong and the Viking didn't know how to fix it. Dom was quiet when they were out around their people, he'd been spending more time in their room or hiding in the forest, but what worried him most was when he heard him crying at night. He'd hold him closer and pet his belly like he knew Dom liked but when he tried to ask what was wrong the kid waved him off.

"Maybe if you stare hard enough you'll impregnate him. That will fix it." Kol jumped at the sound of his brother's voice. The bastard loved to sneak up on him. That was even how he'd found him, an accidental game of hide and seek and the madman had just… followed him home from the forest.

He huffed, pressing himself further behind a tree and pulling Mod with him. He hadn't meant to stalk his prey- his lover, but now he was spying and it had been too long to say hello and it not be strange. "That won't fix the current problem. I don't think." He thought twice for a moment but he was pretty sure the fae wasn't upset about not making love yet. This felt different. He was more adorably grumpy about that, this seemed sad.

"And spying on him will. I see." The wild one teased, pushing his long hair back so he could furrow his brows and look serious. Kol growled low in his chest and smacked his friend with the back of his hand. This was a serious matter, gods damn it.

"He's been… sad." He sighed, cocking his hip against the bark of the tree and turning his attention more to his kin than his thrall but he kept glancing at the boy.

"It could be that his pack isn't welcome yet. Or than the women here are… harsh. Or perhaps he's a bit scarred by the brute of your family. Or even… yes! It could be that you're still too much of one to actually fuck his p-" Kol shut him up by clamping a palm over his loud mouth. Normally he'd hit someone for that but his seer couldn't help it. Not really. Still though, no other man was allowed to talk about his lover's pussy.

"You're not as cute as you think you are."

"M'dorb!" The halfling slurred something against his skin before he licked it and the man cursed, pulling away fast and shaking his hand.

"Fuck you."

"Oh so now you're offering it to everyone but me?"

Kol was a Viking, he was a brute who had more strength than he should for his size. He'd killed more than he could count and once wrestled a bear for fun- or that was the story at least- but he'd never jumped so high as he did in that moment his boy's voice sounded right behind him. His feet actually left the ground and he made a noise he'd never admit to making but he was genuinely so scared to turn to his thrall he thought of just… walking away.

"I wouldn't if I were you. He knows where the ropes are." Modig laughed as he turned and left the man to his fate. He was so worried of what the fae would say he thought about calling out for him.

"Dom? You're out here?" He knew it was the stupidest thing he ever tried to get away with and the look on his lover's face when he finally glanced reminded him so much of his mother his heart clenched. They didn't look alike exactly but there was a shared womanly disdain between them. It was as comforting as it was horrifying. "Are you going to spank me?"

Dom scoffed so loud they heard birds leave the trees but he just stomped off. "You'd like tha' too much." He sighed, holding himself tight as he left to the seashore.

Kol debated whether to follow or go home and work. He had a meeting with Bjørn before too late, something about the nearby clan. They'd had a tentative peace for a while but there were always whispers and supposedly his uncle had news he had to hear. He had a legitimate reason to let his boy go alone, perhaps he'd have time to visit with his friends, but just the thought of leaving him on his own had a growl vibrating in Kol'son's chest. "Fuck." He grumbled, pushing a hand through his hair as he turned to run after the boy. "Wait for me!"

"Fuck off!" His future baby mother shouted back and Kol could see him speeding up, but he kept close enough he wouldn't lose sight of him. His gaze dropped to that perfect ass and his eyes narrowed in a glare. Obviously Dom wasn't torturing him on purpose, he was the problem here, but he still cracked his neck and adjusted his dick and tried to deal with his overwhelming need.

"Wait, what are we doing?" He called out after a moment, finally deciding just to try and move on instead of apologizing for what he did. He had every fucking right, it was his land and his thrall. Just because Dom made him feel soft inside didn't mean he was. Perhaps it was time to remind them both who was in charge.

"You fucking off. I'm getting me pack and bringing em 'ome. If ya don't piss me off we might 'ave a good day later." Or maybe Dom was in charge. Who was he kidding?

"I'm not leaving yet. I want to meet him. Tom, right?"

Dom swallowed hard, trying not to cry as he turned around on his heel and stood still. Kol was walking so fast they smacked into each other and he tried not to whimper from being slapped in the face with his daidí's sweat drenched bare chest. The Viking stepped back and the fae sighed, trying to paint a smile on his face. "It's alright, you don't 'ave to meet 'im wiv me. I'll bring 'im along and you can greet each over at 'ome." He made his voice as light as possible but Kol still caught it waivering.

"Nonsense. I should greet him at the shore with you. Do you have a boat that needs brought in? Did you swim here? I… hmm, I never thought about how you got here." The chieftain laughed until he realized his lover was a bit green around the edges.

"We um… no. Nuffin to bring up. Fanks." Dom was terrified and he swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. What if Tom didn't have time to slip his skin? His friend wasn't expecting him. He couldn't imagine Kol'son finding out that way. He knew he would tell him someday but… not yet. "Fing is… he um- he- You see Tom- uhh…" He tried starting a dozen different sentences and he got so nervous his hands twisted together in front of him. His master was enjoying every moment, his arms were crossed and there was a smile on his face. Arsehole. Beautiful arsehole. "He gonna 'ate you and um- ya may not understand each over."

The leader chuckled and it turned into a full body laugh that had him shaking his head before he wrapped an arm around his grumpy boy, leading him down their trail. "I'm sure it'll be mutual. I don't like anyone around you but if it'll make you happy we'll bring them home. It's alright boy. Just relax."

Dom grumbled to himself and dug his heels in just a little, he was getting desperate to stall and starting to wonder if he shouldn't just drop to his knees for the man and practice his skills of distraction but then he saw a blur of something out of the corner of his eye and he took a breath. He knew that blur, over the last few weeks he'd been making friends with Modig and Ben, and thankfully one of them must have felt his worry. They would get Tom in human form before they reached the shore. He still wasn't happy with his daidí though. "You acting like a straight up fuck again master. Who pissed in ya baff?" He knew probably no one but it was a silly saying he'd heard from his lover and it always made the man happy when he tried to talk like a brute.

"Mmm. You." Kol'son huffed but it was a lie and definitely too soon after he upset his prince to tease him. "Shit- no. Not you." He rushed to fix it when he felt the kid stiffen and not in a fun way. He was just frightened to bring his chieftain troubles to the boy. "When you said you were a prince-"

"To Inga." Dom interjected with a huff.

"To Inga- did you know much about running a kingdom?" Hopefully he could learn about his love and maybe get some help at the same time but either way he just enjoyed talking to him. It always made him feel better.

Dom's plush bottom lip rolled between his fangs and he sighed. It was hard making himself talk about those days but… Kol was his forever, he just knew it. They had to learn to talk. "A little but I weren't exactly made for tha'. I guess if I survived the mating I would 'ave ruled but like… by me god's side. I was so scared all the time 'ough tha' I paid close attention to me parents so I wouldn't upset 'em…" His voice dropped. It made his heart ache to talk about. "Me mum and dad fought all the time and um… 'urt each over. Me, sometimes if I got in the way so-" He sniffled and Kol pulled him closer and kissed his hair. "Yeah I guess I learned wha' parts of ruling upset 'em. Why?" He tried to be blunt- and quick with it but he knew some of his emotions bled into it.

The human was silent for a moment. He was overwhelmed with rage and hurt. More than anything else he wanted Dom safe and healthy. Someday he'd have to find out where his kingdom was so he could plan a raid. "That's fucked. I- I love you." He finally settled on. Apologizing would be dim, he didn't hurt the kid but he couldn't understand how anyone could be so evil to someone so perfect. Did he really say 'if he survived'? Oh gods.

"I love you too ya big pup. Now tell me wha's got ya being a cock?"

Kol'son snorted, his thrall was trying to learn how to tease with the men but he didn't have it down perfectly yet. "That doesn't really…"

"Fine, why you being a right cunt?"

Kol chuckled and tilted his head with an expression that said 'that works' and he sighed deep. "I worry war is coming. There's a clan not far from here that… they were allies once but-" He took a deep breath and growled at himself. How were they not at the shore yet? He swore it wasn't so far a few days before but they were running then. Dom was keeping them purposely slow. His lover's arm wrapped around his waist until he was holding him right back and he didn't think he could be more thankful. The boy didn't speak or make a big deal of it, he just held him back and made it seem like something he needed, that it wasn't for Kol's benefit but gods it was.

"When I was thirteen they went on a raid with my father and his men. I was left in charge at home and… they swore it wasn't their fault but only Bjørn and a few of our men returned, my father um-"

Dom gave him a moment but when he couldn't seem to get it out he asked softly what he already knew- "He didn't make it 'ome? Gods love, I'm so sorry. Wha' did Bastard say 'appened?" He wouldn't sugar-coat his hatred of Kol's terrible uncle, the man had tried to molest him his first week here and the way Aud spoke he was lucky. He knew the miserable excuse for a man wouldn't be accepted if not for how little of his family his daidí had left. He wouldn't trust Bjørn as far as he could toss him and he definitely couldn't. The man was a beast in all the ways but hopefully he'd be honest about his own brother's death.

"He said he didn't see my father fall but that the other chieftain was fighting by his side so it couldn't have been him. I don't know. They've always hated us. I think to be honest it was a fight over my mother that started it all. Dad won." He couldn't help but grin.

"If he was as charming as you-" Dom stopped when Kol scoffed and he looked up at him, his brows furrowed.

"Maybe when he was young. I don't know. He was broken after they died. I was almost happy when he joined them." The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying and the weight of the truth stopped him in his tracks.

"Shhh, it's alright Kols. I'm sure he was too. Ain't nuffin wrong wiv being 'appy for 'im. I am too. I'm sure Valhalla is lovely. They're jus' waiting for you now but I won't let ya go for lifetimes yet." Dom soothed, squeezing tight around his lover's waist. He pressed a kiss against his chest and breathed him deep. He couldn't imagine what the first Kol- Kolvidur if he'd heard right- went through. He could never be without his man now.

The Viking smiled at the precious way his boy thought the afterlife was like, he obviously didn't understand Valhalla, but Kol wasn't sure he fully believed in it anyway so he'd rather think of it as beautiful like that. He didn't plan to leave for there any time soon either.

"So you're worried about a war? Why don't ya jus' kill 'em all?" The boy interrupted his thoughts and his eyes went wide. Maybe Dom was turning into more of a Viking than he thought.

"They triple us in numbers and strength. Especially after the raid where my father died. Our clan has been trying to rebuild ever since but… most of who would be our warriors are who you help me train." That made Dom's blood run cold and his stomach turn. Those boys were just that- little children. He knew his man had taken the crown at a young age but no. He couldn't imagine seeing those perfect baby faces soaked in blood. "Perhaps it's not about war though. It could be a new agreement. They change it every few years just to fuck with me. Bjørn said he has news. I'm probably supposed to be there now but they can wait. Let's go get your boys."

Dom was scared for the villagers he was quickly starting to call family but he trusted his mate to do what was needed. He couldn't help wondering if he would ever be accepted as the leader's wife or if he'd forever be a fucking thrall. He sighed softly, he knew when Kol made up his mind there was no changing it so he just nodded and tugged him along the path a little faster. Hopefully their interlude had given the forest fae long enough to reach Tom because they were getting close. "Weren't joking. He won't like you. He don't trust anyone to care for me. Especially not a 'uman."

When the kid teased him Kol'son almost tripped, he knew logically Tom would be other because Dom was but he hadn't heard his love say it so bluntly before. "I'm glad someone's been looking out for your sexy ass. I've got you now though so he can back the fuck up and get in line or I'll teach him to." Dom wouldn't admit to the slick that rushed between his thighs at his master's growled partially joking words but he worried the man could smell it. He was creepily attuned to his scent for a human.

"If he thinks he can take me I'll welcome his challenge. I'd love to teach a brute how it's done." Dom heard a new voice speak his own language and he rolled his eyes. Of bloody course Tom heard that. Of course. The selkie was coming up the shore to meet them and he plastered a smile to cover his less than polite words.

The thrall watched in something akin to horror as his daidí reached to greet him and he leaned close and asked- "Does he ever wear clothes?" He didn't know that Tom could understand him but the selkie kept his face calm as he stared the human down. Dom could feel a mess fast approaching but at least he could keep them separate by claiming they couldn't understand each other. The boy worried when he didn't see his kin's fur over his shoulder but then a voice whispered through his mind and he knew Modig possessed it and was taking it home. Oh. That showed a lot of trust. Maybe Tom could learn to be comfortable here, he seemed to have already made a friend. He just hoped everything would go smoothly but he would never bet on it. It wasn't his kind of luck.

Author's Note/Tags: @manicpixiedreamb0y @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @cole-way-iero28 @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

Have a little plot, hopefully yesterday's smut holds you over cause it may be a bit before more. I'm not sure yet. I hope you enjoyed a little more back story! 🖤☠️

[griefabyss69]

About & Fanworks List

Hello,

This is a sideblog of @griefabyss, I figured I could put fandom related things here because I don't put original posts on my main blog, and don't want to limit posting to just ao3. I'm happy to make friends on here!

Please note that 99% of my reblogs are from my queue and I don't tag about it, so if I seem active but I'm not replying to a message that'd be why!

I have a tip jar! - Tumblr post - Ko-Fi (Currently trying to save up for dental work)

GriefAbyss on ao3

My writing tag

My art tag

Fic & Fanart list need to be reworked and haven't been updated since November 2023, please find new works through the writing and art tags! Thank you <3 I'll get this done at some point :' )

Fanart

» LARP AU - Mature - Steve x Eddie

This is a sketch I did while writing Last Man Standing!

» Demon Steve - Mature - Steve

This is a commission from a friend of her Steve from her fanfic the only time i feel human is when i'm in bed with you!

» Sweet Rose - Mature - Eddie

This is a painting of Eddie in shibari! Uncropped version under the cut, full nsfw.

» Sketch Request 01 - Gagged Eddie - Mature - Eddie

A sketch request for Eddie with a gag in, the messier the better <3

» Sketch Request 02 - Scoops Uniform Debauchery - Mature - Steve

A sketch request for Steve, undressed with a ripped shirt in his work uniform

Censored due to guidelines fuckery Uncensored here on ao3!

Fanfiction

» Post-Apocalypse AU

01 - Hell Patrol - 12k - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3]

Post-apocalypse setting shortly after S4, mostly PWP. Steve is having trouble getting off and one day after he confesses this to Eddie, he helps. Featuring first time blow jobs, a heatwave, and the beginnings of a power exchange.

02 - Night Comes Down - 23k - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3]

The sequel to Hell Patrol, where Eddie and Steve negotiate and play with things like the power of imagination, multiple orgasms, and bondage.

» Between Light and Darkness - 5k - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3]

Vampire Eddie, shortly after S4. Steve wants Eddie to have a safe sources of blood, Eddie doesn't want to hurt him. Arguing leads to Eddie blowing Steve and a fun discovery about Eddie's vampire lore.

» Offer Your Light - 4.6K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

[ A continuation of fiordicielo's series a metalhead and a pink boy! ]

Steve and Eddie meet again… and find their way back under the stage to have more fun together! Will Eddie's kilt survive? Contains: Semi-public sex at a music festival, falling (further) in love, heart shaped nipple piercings, a jock strap, a kilt, and a whole lot of heavy metal!

» Ready To Go - 3K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

[ A continuation of fiordicielo's series But what does it mean? ]

Eddie sees his bandanna in Steve's right pocket and it kicks off the first time they explore what Steve's been curious about. Contains: Experimenting, light bondage, some pain, nipple clamps, getting together, safe sex, Steve begging for more, Eddie's nervous excitement, and biting!

» Run Me Through - 9.5K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

Enemies with benefits, sexy wrestling, getting together, emotional tension, competitiveness

Eddie and Steve have an arrangement - every Wednesday they meet up and have fantastic sex, even if they barely even talk to each other. It blows off steam and is easier than trying to find someone else local, but there's a few issues with it. Steve is playing coy with letting Eddie know whether he wants something or not, makes him wrestle him to earn it instead of just saying yes or not, and Eddie can't squeak out a win even once, no matter how hard he tries. And Eddie can't find out what's causing Steve's distance and the distractions he pulls out, or it'll ruin the whole thing they have going on.

» Constrained - 10K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

Written for the @steddievember challenge, I loosely followed some of the prompts: Teasing, Hand cuffs / Cock rings, and Oral sex without orgasm, and technically Ice play to kill the boner

Eddie's month has been... frustrating. He thinks he might be losing his mind, or maybe something inside of him has broken, but he's been unable to cum this month. He meets Steve after he graduated, this time properly, and he offers up a solution to Eddie's desperate problem. Will Steve solve it, though? Does he put Eddie through the most intense experience of his life, resulting in the ultimate relief? Or does he keep him on the edge, the hook of Steve's beautiful mouth making him continue to reach for a completion he's not going to get?

» LARP AU

01 - Last Man Standing - 15.6K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

Steve asks Eddie to teach him how to play D&D. Eddie has no idea what's in store for him as Steve throws him for a loop, making the game into something that changes Eddie on a molecular level, if his dick is to believed.

02 - Interlude - 6K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

Sequel to Last Man Standing - (This one doesn't have roleplaying but the next one does, which is why I titled it this. Technically a song title but from many different artists.) Eddie finally instigates some more fun after Steve surprises him after a show, and Steve has fun pushing at Eddie's limits again, this time in his car.

03 - Stargasm - 11K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie [AO3] [Tumblr]

After they recover from their interesting night in Steve’s car, Eddie and Steve get up to some more LARPing, this time with Steve as the Demon King who bests Sir Eddie the Banished Knight. Eddie’s still not sure where they stand in their relationship, but it feels good to be with him, and the time they spend after the hot sex is really nice.

04 - so take a bite of me, just once - 10.3K - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie [AO3] [Tumblr]

Odaxelagnia is a kink where individuals experience sexual arousal from biting or being bitten. - Eddie's revenge feels less like striking back and more like reverence, but he's satisfied with the mark he's left on Steve anyway. This is also part 04 of the paraphilia series <3

» Paraphilia Series

01 - Still Motion - Scoptophilia - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

Scoptophilia describes the sexual pleasure that a person derives from looking at prurient objects of eroticism, such as pornography, the nude body, and fetishes. - Steve poses nude for Eddie so he can do figure sketching from his bed, as Eddie starts to look like he’s getting too warm. Of course, it’s not the temperature that’s getting to him.

02 - Acceptance and Negation - Forniphilia - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

Forniphilia is a type of BDSM practice where one partner is turned into a piece of furniture or object for the other partner’s use. This can involve anything from being used as a chair or table, to being transformed into a coat rack or lamp. - Steve loses a bet against Eddie, who gets to order him around all night. It wasn't intended to be a sex thing until Steve discovered something new about himself.

03 - Waves - Forniphilia - Rated: E - Steve x Eddie

[AO3] [Tumblr]

Saliromania is a fetish that involves pleasure from soiling or disheveling the object of one’s desire, usually an attractive person. It can also involve sexual arousal or satisfaction of soiling or damaging a partner’s clothing. Some individuals may also enjoy the act of being soiled or disheveled themselves. -- Steve watches Eddie a lot, finds that Eddie's always got his mouth busy. It's distracting and he's becoming a little bit obsessed with it - to the point where he snaps one day and climbs into Eddie's lap to have his turn with it.

» Steddie Microfic Masterlist This is all of the links to my steddiemicrofic challenges all in one place!

» Fanwork Request Masterlist

All of the links to my writing & art requests!

[annab-recs]

what i read this month - oct. '23

❀ = nsfw/mature content, minors dni

reminder to read the warnings before a fic & to support writers & reblog :)

organized alphabetically by fandom, then by pairing, then by author

harry potter

— ron weasley —

the yule ball - @marvelslut16

type: oneshot, genre: angst, fluff summary: you wanted ron to ask to the yule ball but you get asked by someone else. jealous!ron ensues. commentary: the perfect mixture of jealousy and playfulness and love confession and cuteness all in one 😍

marvel

— peter parker —

peter p. blurb - @webslingingslasher

type: blurb, genre: hurt comfort summary: peter helps you grieve the loss of a loved one commentary: so sad yet so sweet 😭

peter p. blurb - @webslingingslasher

type: blurb, genre: fluff summary: you find out peter's hair is curly commentary: this was so cute like i need to read more of your stuff because i LOVED the two things i read this month

stranger things

— eddie munson —

no more tears - @aphrogeneias

type: oneshot, halloween, genre: fluff, hurt comfort summary: it’s halloween night, 1986. you want to celebrate your favorite holiday after the year you and your friends just had, but after being dumped by your, now ex, boyfriend a week before puts a damp on your plans. eddie munson, however, has a different plan for you commentary: i loved the dynamic between eddie and the reader in this one sooo much! and the payback andrew got was 🤌🏼

eddie m. blurb - @eiightysixbaby

type: blurb, friends to lovers, genre: fluff summary: play wrestling with eddie turns into more commentary: absolutely so frickin adorable 🤍

❀ what about you sweetheart? are you scared? - @lilacletter

type: oneshot, halloween, genre: fluff, smut summary: when your plans fall through with the younger kids, steve gets a brilliant idea. that you and the rest of the gang should go explore the old creel house. reluctantly, you all agree, having nothing better to do. eddie is quick to sneak away with you once you’re there, determined to find out how scared you really are. commentary: story - 10/10, smut - 10/10, and the ending is hilarious! if you love soft sweet eddie but also hot sexy eddie, this is the fic for you (update: op, unfortunately, deactivated so i can't link it, but believe me when i say this was a phenomenal fic)

i wanna be more part 1 & part 2 - @maxxxineminxxx

type: twoshot, genre: fluff, angst summary: y/n tells eddie she wants to join the cheer squad he has a bad reaction at first but then he calms down. y/n thinks everything is fine until she sees her replacement standing at eddies locker. they look close? & y/n attends the party she was unsure about going to, only to find out that eddie's there as well with his "girl?'' eddie is still ignoring y/n and she is determined to find out why. commentary: my heart was broken but then it was mended with part two ❤️‍🩹 love love love this!!!

— jonathan byers —

hurtless - @stveharringtn

type: also steve harrington x reader, oneshot, cheating (of the emotional variety, not physical), genre: angst, hurt comfort summary: after having an argument with jonathan about how he depends on nancy far more than he does on you, steve finds you once he's heard about your fight commentary: hurt my heart for the reader but it was so good

— steve harrington —

steve h. oneshot - @katsu28

type: oneshot, genre: fluff, angst summary: based on these prompts: "you called me your friend." "was i not supposed to say that?" "you really think i'm just your friend? after these last few weeks?" commentary: so well written and so easy to feel what the reader was going through and connect with her! 100000000/10 <3

steve h. oneshot - @lovebugism

type: oneshot, genre: fluff, hurt comfort summary: steve comforts you after a no good, really bad day commentary: steve is a sweetie pie and is the best protector/comforter in the world

steve h. blurb - @luveline

type: blurb, genre: fluff summary: you're used to doing all the chores and things since that's how it has been for you in past relationships. however, you come home to steve doing some of those chores and freak out about it commentary: another one for sweetie pie stevie 🥺🥰

hurtless - @stveharringtn

type: also jonathan byers x reader, oneshot, cheating (of the emotional variety, not physical), genre: angst, hurt comfort summary: after having an argument with jonathan about how he depends on nancy far more than he does on you, steve finds you once he's heard about your fight commentary: hurt my heart for the reader but it was so good

nail to the coffin - @thetargaryenbride

type: series, byers!reader au, genre: fluff, angst summary: y/n byers wondered what would end up being the death of the small town she lived in. she never expected that the last nail on the coffin would be hammered by monsters from another dimension who would end up hunting down her friends and family one by one… commentary: i finished season one, two, three, and i think i've got a couple chapters left in season four and i absolutely LOVE THIS!! the way the storyline is altered is so good and still fits the stranger things vibe

[yagamisdiary]

I lowkey feel Ambrose's mind set and outcome could have been much different if he allowed himself to seek love from someone instead of shutting out every chance for love he has been offered and only seeing himself, his mind and body as materialistic value. Same goes with his family, I understand how little he must have felt but if he was more open with his acceptance for love and ability to show it back he'd realise how much he was valued and loved for every aspect of his existence. I can't help but sympathise with him. I feel I'm getting opinionated on his character but his death hurt me the most out of everyone's. I truly believed he had a real love for his family but his love was poisoned by envy and jealousy. I find the most upsetting part of his character is that if he got his way or not he'd still never be happy. If he got his way I feel the buzz of praise and control would wear off eventually and he'd realise it was all just performative. Yes, I know a kingdom can have a real love for their King but if you were to put them in a situation between picking a loved one or the King who would they pick? Maybe Ambrose, but that would be from loyalty, not love. Not REAL love. I'd give it a few months before he'd come down from the high and be left wondering why he hasn't been ticked off or put in a small wrestling match or debate quiz in a while. A few months before it wouldn't only be y/n who couldn't look him in the eye, but he couldn't look at her either. Her face a mosaic of their family blended into one.

I also can't avoid feeling sorrow for him because he really was just a boy who had yet to grow up. On the outside was a man but on the inside was just a boy. Kai is the one slagged the most for his childlike personality but it was always Ambrose that had it. His idea of masculinity was constantly being put on fire and constantly having to be rebuilt with fewer resources every time. It distracted him from the maturity and growth that comes with age. Keeping his feelings enclosed for so long must have spilt out and warped his mind and sadly that's what happens when our emotions bottle up and we feel we have no one to express that to. It's because of this I feel that at his breaking point, he'll go back into his childlike mentality and only then realise how dependent he was on his mom and dad. Only then will he realise he'll never get another hug from his mother or a well-needed lecture from his father. No brothers to seek advice from and mentally no sister to confide in. No family to lean on in times of dread like we all need. And he'd still keep this bottled up. He'd have no one to emotionally connect with on that level again. Maybe a wife but a wife will never be able to bring the love experienced from brothers. The type of love where you can kick and punch each other all you want but they'll still be there at the end of the day eating dinner with you and hold no grudge but love for you by the time the sun goes down. The cycle would only continue for him but this time he has no one to hurt. He got what he wanted and would be stuck in a lifetime of misery and fake smiles with the only thing filling his mind being guilt and sadness. I also believe this would make him realise the love he actually held for his brothers. Yes, I know Y/n was probably his favourite but sometimes when your glass of emotions fills too much it overflows and you are forced to sit there and analyse them even without realising or concentrating on it. That's when he'd find the real love he held for Kai and especially Elijah. The remorse he'd feel and the guilt of realising the love and compassion his older brother felt for him. He'd relive all the small moments. I think that another fault of Ambrose is he expects drastic acts of love that he forgets the real pieces of small everyday doings. He'd realise all the times Elijah probably noticed when a conversation was starting to get Ambrose agitated and would steer it away, all the times he probably realised during balls only he, Elijah was getting all the limelight and praise and would find a way to bring Ambrose's light of character into conversation. Sadly, his win would only make him lose as he'd realise all the real love he was once surrounded with, is now gone that he cold-bloodingly destroyed it. Never will the image of Elijah's lifeless eyes leave his brain or the images of his dead parents. He would only ever see Elijah's eyes before his death looking back to him in mirrors and his father's disappointment when he'd scrunch his brows or his mother's tears when he'd cry. Although he got his dream, he'd just as quickly want to reverse it. I think he'd either live a life of misery and guilt which would reflect onto his people, or end it himself.

I could say Ambrose is probably my favourite character in this story. His feelings are just so universally experienced and we all have probably once felt like an Ambrose. Whether that be with siblings, parents or friends. A lot of us have felt unwanted once and Ambrose embodies that and how its sadness can turn to envy.

As much as he has done bad I seriously just can't help but want to cry for him. He really is just a scared boy under his facade.

The saddest part, even with all the death and horror, I believe his family would still find a way to forgive him. If reincarnation existed in another universe and his loving family could be put in a room together one more time for just one day, I do believe that day would end in one big crying hug of guilt from all sides, and especially at the core of that hug, love.

I went a bit on but I just love his character so much and believe that none of this was his real dream and he never really got to find his real dream in the end. As much as he can be painted to be a monster I don't think his family could ever see that no matter what because the truth is deep down I don't believe he was. His story and life were sad and it's upsetting because he could have had a beautiful life if he stopped looking at how he was perceived by others and took a bit of inspiration and help from his siblings to find his true self. As much as we want to do stuff on our own i don't think he could find himself on his own and do believe with the accepted help from his siblings he could have found that :(

I just realised how long this is... I could have kept it to myself but wanted to kinda voice my opinion on his character because I find him the most interesting and complex!

wow, i’m honestly speechless right now. this is the first time someone has analyzed and truly broke down one of my characters before and it’s honestly sorta eye opening.

it’s always so strange to me how a fictional character i made up in my head can cause such emotional and personal understanding within someone. that they have the capability to reach the readers in ways that cause them to feel sad or empathetic for them.

ambrose personally is one of my favorite characters too. he was so much fun to write at the beginning and with time, the more deeper and complex his character became, i felt an overwhelming sadness when i was reminded of his evitable faith

i had ambrose’s plot line planned out from the first page and never intended for myself to get so attached to him, much less for readers to do the same

in my eyes, he’s extremely relatable. especially for people who grew up as a middle child and often feel overshadowed by their siblings or just in general

i agree that whether he got his way or not, he’d never be satisfied. the rose colored glasses would eventually fall and he’d see the world as it really is and come to terms with all he did to get to where he is

i believe that yn knew this too and that’s why she took it into her own hands to end that misery for him. she knew he was too far gone and that no matter what, he’d never be happy

[a-tale-of-legends]

Characters that don't have depht? How about the girlfriends Whitney & Jasmine?

(I say girlfriends cause of that one Masters winter event lol)

Ooooh okay!

This one'll be short cause I kinda talked about Jasmine in length before.

Restating old hc's: Jasmine's type specialty went electric -> rock -> steel. Her family is full of engineers, specifically ones that work at and watch over the lighthouse. Her dad used to be the gym leader before her, an electric type gym leader in fact. The sudden changes in gym types prooooooobably caused a lot of paper work to be done ( I think it would actually be funny if Jasmine gave the league a headache with her type changes), but her family is super supportive of her. Jasmine is also a skilled engineer, though it's not something she wants to pursue- another thing that her family understands and are supportive of! She's close friends with Volkner! And when she's of age, I actually imagine she's an insane drinker. No one has beaten her in a drinking contest, not even Chuck.

Whitney is someone I would actually love to look more into, but from what I've done in the past, I think she's incredibly sporty! In particular, she loves baseball. The pokeathon is one her favorite things to do in her spare time ( outside of shopping lmao). During the GSC/HGSS days she was very immature ( which was a headache for her gym staff and the league at times), but she has matured since then! She's still very emotional mind you, and doesn't take losing well, but she's much more mature about it ( as in she gives the challenger their badge instead of crying her eyes out immediately....that can happen later lmao). I think it would be cool if Whitney actually had family close to olivine town, since that's where Miltank is naturally found. She was always a city girl imo, but I can see having aunt, uncles and cousins there. She used to be embarrassed about it despite liking to stop by now and again. Again, she grew up and doesn't hold any shame for that side of her family. Oh! And I think it would be funny and cool if she could wrestle a Tauros.

And yes, Whitney n Jasmine are dating. Two problem children of the league ( I'ma be honest. I think all of the johto league has caused some sort of problem with the league at some point and I love them for that).

I think that's everything I have right now. Thanks for the ask!

[msfbgraves]

In terms of KK and CK, who is more emotionally mature, Daniel or Terry?

Leaving aside Karate Kid because Daniel is a teenager with extremely repressed grief over his father, the way he pledges himself to Mr. Miyagi, and Terry is a cokehead with ptsd, by CK most of the time they're reasonably well attuned to what modern life wants from two adult men. Terry is right in telling Kreese that he has to stop being petty about so called slights of Miyagi's - the same Miyagi who publicly humiliated them both - and to show restraint. That's pretty mature, as is funelling your excess energy into music and art and wine tasting. Daniel is a good boss and a loving family man if he has trouble parenting his son. Why I love both of them so much is that at their core, they are far more passionate than protestant white culture allows. They're neither of them protestant, I think they'd choke - and I feel quite at ease in both Ireland and Italy myself because people are less likely to tell me not to feel so much. Both Terry and Daniel are very passionate souls and I think they find that attractive in the other. They're also both fascinated by two cultures that are extremely restrictive when it comes to openly showing passion - Korea and Japan. Maybe because that's so ritualised that it's easier to handle; US culture simply randomly calls "Stop!" and you don't know how much emotion is allowed. But Daniel and Terry can match each other in how deeply they feel, that's why they're so explosive.

Now Terry enjoys hurting others, maybe in a perverse bid for connection - he feels that pain is such an integral part of him that anyone he loves needs to share that experience and he'll hurt them himself if he needs to. That or he's always been a sadist, war or no. We don't know but it didn't help, did it? He's aware enough not to inflict any more pain on others because that is simply not appropriate. Maybe he watches pro wrestling to get a fix, maybe he's found an alternative lifestyle with safewords and all, I couldn't say. But he knows 95% of the time it's Not Done and he refrains. That's also quite well adjusted if it is restrictive.

Daniel has also conformed quite strongly. Toned down his accent, his mannerisms, his hairstyle (Ralph is much more expressive!), not much ranting prior to S5. So they both have quite a good sense of how to be a socially acceptable adult and they both have enough wisdom to act like it - moreso than Kreese and Johnny, in my view. But do they know how to throw that out of the window when faced with each other! Daniel could kill a man. He constantly refers to that in film 2 and 3 - "why didn't you kill him? I wish you could have killed him." Of course he'll enter a death match. He always takes on things that are too big for him, and he has a masochistic streak. Terry is right, he likes it! If those two had met without the mind games - omg. It wouldn't have been appropriate to us but they could have made quite the scandalous society couple! They feed a need in each other their country has no place for. That's what makes them so potent. They both know perfectly well how to do Well Adjusted Adult, but they see each other for who and what they are in their dark underbelly.

I feel like Damiko is a good couple because he spurs her on and she calms him down a little, being around each other. Silverusso is interesting because they compliment each other in their dark side and blow each other up. They may be exhausting to be friends with but Terry would really have gone to conquer the world for Daniel. "Baby, I've bought you Guam." "Oh, you shouldn't have." "Anything for y-" "No Terry listen I don't think you should have done that."

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 4/10

What am I feeling today?

Well currently I’m in pain, it’s been going on for a little over a week now and it’s just been bothering me. Also, I suspect I may have fallen into another depressive episode. I didn’t want to post my quiet times for a few days but now I feel I should because I want to dive into my emotions.

Psalm 13 NIV

“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Look on me and answer, Lord my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall. But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me.”

Whenever I really feel sorrow weighing on my heart, I read this Psalm because I can relate a lot to David here.

I think about this life especially: How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? I think this encapsulates depression quite well and how I feel.

But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me.” -> this is the reminder though! Despite all I’m feeling, I’ll continue to trust and praise God! Because even now, I know that He’s still good to me! I know He loves me and cares for me and has a plan for me and I should push myself to focus on that.

However, lately, everything has just brought me sorrow. My heart is hurting and I keep trying to pinpoint what it is. The only thing I can really think of is that I’ve been reflecting on my past too much. I visited my birth city twice in the past month and it brought back a lot of memories and nostalgia. I think I’m just grieving my childhood, that I’m an adult now and I’ll never experience that again.

Isaiah 43:18-19 NIV

““Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

I constantly try to remind myself of this when I get stuck in the past! However, I also think that I never really took the time to mourn my childhood. I know that I grew up too fast, had certain responsibilities as a kid that forced me to mature early, and also, I wanted to grow up. My parents warned me, others as well, enjoy your childhood! You’re only a kid once! I wish I listened to them!! I wish I didn’t race so quickly to adulthood because now I’m here and I wish I could relive the past, to be taken back and slow down to really enjoy what I had.

I feel that’s always been a problem for me. I focus too much on the future and therefore don’t enjoy the present and then regret it later on. I’m always looking to escape the now but then miss the past. Yknow they say you never really knew what you had until it’s gone and that’s so true!

Anyways! God says to forget the former things and not to dwell because He’s doing a new thing! And that’s true! He is! I should focus on the here and now and enjoy the present because that’s where He has me right now🙏🏼

[consoledacup]

Is Jordan supposed to be the most emotionally mature or something? How did he see his father die, and yet he has expressed the least emotion about it? I've seen more struggle on Laura and Liv's end, and they're building up Spencer's spiral gradually. But Jordan literally has nothing to show for his father's death, no emotional moment in the last few eps that makes me know the source of his grief, which makes me question what his grief ep is going to be about?

Hi, Anon!

The thing about is grief is... there's no right way to grieve. But while I do think he's become emotionally mature, I wouldn't say I see no emotion from him.

In 5x11, he's in shock. Plain and simple. There are tears welling up in his eyes, but he's got to deliver this news to his family and be the man of the house.

In 5x12, he looks like he's going to jump out of his skin. Every time he's not supporting his mom or Liv, every time he's not receiving support from Layla, he's constantly moving. You see him adjusting his clothes. You see him buzzing with anxious energy. He can't bring himself to do the normal things, like check a closet with his father's clothes, without Layla's help. He also sees his sister and mother outwardly grieving a whole lot more and stifles his to be there for them. But when Layla offers to cover for him at the repast, he practically runs out of there. And then when he hears about Jabari, he thinks, "Here's something I can focus on. Dad would want me to do this." And then he doesn't have to dwell on his grief.

After his talk with Jabari, he again decides on another project to honor his father. Because time is of the present, and the memorial in Crenshaw needed to happen. And all throughout the episode, Layla is by his side, giving him exactly what he needs to keep going and processing. He has completely opened up his heart to her and is receptive to her support. It makes a world of difference to him. And he's choosing to latch onto joy when he can. And he knows that she knows firsthand how to find her way out of grief.

I still think he's wrestling with some kind of shock/hasn't really processed the loss in 5x12.

And that carries over in 5x13. We have this beautiful side storyline with a box, which... what? But it works. First it's the closet, now it's box. The little things that he expects his dad to take care of... it's up to him now. And what a thing that is.

He was completely focused on his sister at first. Just scared out of his mind she was going relapse again. He's again trying to step in as the man of the house and support these two broken women and feeling like he's coming up short.

Once Liv brazenly and boldly tells her village she needs help and then proves her remarkable strength, he's left to focus on the box again. I wouldn't say he had no emotion with the box. He was immobile and overwhelmed. And his reasoning for not opening the box is, "What if that's the last of Dad?" He's trying to process his grief, but that doesn't always have to look like wailing or picking fights or laying in bed. It can look like going about your day and making sure your loved ones are safe and then freezing in place for hours because of a box.

He also left things on a great note with his dad. His dad wanted him to be his QB1. And didn't ask him out of obligation but because he needed his talent and leadership. His dad caught onto him and Layla and was thrilled and gave him his blessing. Jordan didn't begrudge Billy's decision to stay at Crenshaw. They didn't leave things unsaid. There also can be a quiet beauty to grief, and I'm wondering if we'll get more of that perspective, specifically with his connection to Layla.

That's my take on it. I'm with you though. I'm very eager to see where his episode goes. I can't exactly predict what we'll see with him, but I do think it's been monumentally difficult for him, regardless of what we've seen from him so far.

I think each storyline we've had with him has had a theme of "Dad's not here, so I need to do it..."

"Dad's not here to pick out his blue suit, so I need to do it."

"Dad's not here to talk to Jabari, so I need to do it. I need to tell him it's not his fault. It's my job now."

"Dad's not here to provide space for his Crenshaw community to grieve, so I need to organize it."

"Dad's not here to open this box he ordered, so I need to decide what to do with it."

"Dad's not here to make Grandma Mary's jambalaya, so I'm gonna do it and bring our family together."

Sooner or later, that "picking up the baton" method isn't going to work. And we might see what happens in the fallout.

[mama-qwerty]

Out of everything in the world, what do you think movie Knuckles would enjoy the most from earth outside of grapes?

Oh, talking about my Knux?? Don't mind if I do.

I see movie Knuckles as enjoying things that maybe aren't typical for other kids his age. He likes food that has a good crunch to it, and enjoys vegetables over junk. Mostly he likes to snack on carrots, apples, and oranges, but is pretty indifferent to celery and lettuce. Not enough flavor for him.

And he does like flavor. Not spicy stuff, but he likes strong flavors, as he didn't get much chance to have a variety of foods in his travels. Tacos are a favorite, and he has a love for Doritos. He likes sour and tart stuff more than sweet, although he does enjoy a good ice cream.

Ironically, he doesn't like boxing. Two guys just beating each other up for no reason? Not his thing. He DOES like professional wrestling, though, and Mexican wrestling is very fun for him. It's entertaining, and the moves are so big and show-boaty he can't help but laugh. They're fighting for a reason. And it looks fun to boot.

Movies are hit and miss with him, as he still has a hard time identifying subtle emotions and hinted at plot points. He loves musicals, and animated movies. LOVES them. And he's got a good singing voice, even if he doesn't always want to sing in front of others. When the Wachowskis have karaoke night, he's usually self-conscious and needs a lot of encouragement to participate. Sometimes he doesn't. But when he does . . . WOW.

He's a boy who likes quiet, so when his brothers become just TOO MUCH, he heads off to find some solitude. Sometimes he'll just go off by himself into the woods. Sometimes he'll head over to Callie's for some snuggle time with her cats. Callie has the same issue (she likes her quiet) and they've gotten into a routine where if he shows up unannounced, she'll send her boys off to the Wachowski house and the two of them will sit and watch a movie together. Sometimes they simply sit and chat. And sometimes they just sit together, enjoying the quiet companionship. Since Callie was the first human he connected with when he first came to Earth, she shares a closer bond with him than Sonic and Tails.

He'll always be more mature and disciplined than Sonic or Tails, but he does loosen up a bit after being on Earth for a while. He relaxes a bit, and tries out different hobbies and such to stretch his interests. He does yoga with Maddie of course, but he also tries his hand at gardening, and creative writing.

I love Knux, and have been tossing around the idea of doing some au type stuff where Callie's the one who adopt him instead of the Wachowskis. (Inspired by the Tails Whipple story by @appendingfic) But we'll see if I ever do anything with it. I dunno.